


The Dark One's Keeper

by fringeperson



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, Godfather Rumplestiltskin, Personal Assistant Belle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 93,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: Belle, rather than her father, contacts the Dark One to rid her home of the ogres - and she does it years earlier. Naturally, this changes things. Them included.~Originally posted in' 18
Relationships: Belle & Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 7
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

Rumplestiltskin blinked in surprise at the dove that had just landed on his work table. Doves had no business in the Dark Castle, generally speaking. This one, however, had a little bundle tied to one of its legs.

The bundle wasn't in possession of magic of any kind, so Rumplestiltskin decided it was safe enough to retrieve and examine. Upon opening the package brought to him by the dove, he found it was a letter.

_Dark One,_

_Ogres have begun to invade my father's kingdom, and I know from my reading that you are able to defeat these creatures. Please, I beg that you would prevent the loss of life that another war against the ogres would cause. I beg that you would protect my father's kingdom from the ogres._

_I know that my father will not even think to ask this of you until it is almost too late for ourselves, and far too late for our people. King Maurice is famously stubborn, and foolishly believes that our little kingdom has sufficient military might to drive off the ogres without aid. I may be only young yet, but I have my eyes open enough to know that the kingdom is ill-equipped to face the threat that lies before us._

_Please help us. I do not wish to see families broken as my father conscripts soldiers from among our people to fight this threat. I am willing to pay whatever price you demand of me, if it will save our people._

_With greatest respect,_

_Belle, princess of Avonlea and the Marshlands_

Rumplestiltskin hummed thoughtfully. In truth, he had expected a message from the Marshlands over the matter, but not one so verbose – and he had not expected the message to come for another eight years. Eight years from this very point, the ogres would indeed have overrun the Marshlands, and Avonlea would be on the very precipice of falling.

“ _Help! Help! We're dying! Can you save us? We will give you all the gold in ours stores!”_

That was the message that he expected to come to him, from King Maurice, on that day – a day when he would correct the king on his presumption that Rumplestiltskin would trade his magical services for something he could and did spin out of straw in large quantities. Yet here was a missive, sent to him by the daughter of the king rather than the king himself, and almost a decade early.

He was a bit busy right now. He'd just dismissed Zelena from his tutelage (she could hardly curse him into the Land Without Magic when that vital ingredient she would need to cast the curse was  _his_ heart) and convinced Regina to be his student – and she was going to need a lot of work. Then again, ending threats of ogres was how he'd gotten started. It wouldn't take him very long to deal with the matter. It was just the choosing of an appropriate price that was the issue.

Well, he'd just have to meet this princess and see what she had to offer. He really couldn't accept too many unnamed favours in trade, and for such a sensible request to come from a princess... well, it might restore his faith in the female of the species. Maybe.

Milah had been the first, Cora and Zelena the most recent. Those and all the ones in between had been utterly, wrenchingly, dreadful experiences, though in vastly different ways, and next he was deliberately going to be shaping Regina into a monster for his own purposes. Not the sort of person who would be able to restore anybody's faith in the strange sub-species of humans known as 'females'.

But what to do with Regina while he was gone on this errand? He wasn't about to leave her alone and unsupervised in his home. She'd stick her nose into something and break it. The object, that is, whatever she inevitably and invariably would stick her nose into. He really could care less if she broke her nose.

“I have business to attend to,” he informed her. “It may take some time. You have the duration of my absence to take advantage of my stables and spend time with your horse. I'd best not find you've made a mess of the place though,” he added sternly.

Regina's face lit up happily, and she thanked him briefly before she ran off out of the tower. The girl did love her horses. It probably came with having a stable boy as her True Love – even if the unfortunate lad was dead now. Cora really was a shockingly terrible parent, even more than she was a wretched human being.

Satisfied that Regina wouldn't be getting into anything important, Rumplestiltskin also left the tower. He, however, left by magic and went quite a bit further than simply the stables.

~oOo~

When there was a knock at the door, Belle looked up from her task in mild confusion. No one ever bothered her here, save for her parents, but it could not be either of them now. Her mother had died in the winter that had just passed – there had been ice on the steps, and Queen Madeline had not seen it in time to save herself from the perilous fall – and Belle's father was in his study, writing out orders to be sent to the knights that were sworn to him and his lords.

Belle rose from her seat and moved to investigate. Upon opening the door, however, there was no one on the other side. It must be the younger children playing games, Belle decided as a slightly rueful cant took up residence upon her lips. Knocking on a door and then running away.

At least someone could have fun.

Belle shook her head and closed the door again.

“Bit of a let-down?” a voice asked from within the room.

Belle jumped in surprise as she whipped around. There was a... man. Only not a man, for men did not have skin that was a sort of green and glittered as though powdered in gold all over. He was sitting on her chair and looking back at her, a smile on his face and a glimmer of mischief in his strange, dark eyes.

“Just confusing,” Belle answered carefully. “I don't really get visitors,” she confessed.

“Well, you've got one now, dearie,” the man-who-wasn't-a-man said lightly. “You sent me a message.”

Belle's eyes widened slightly then, as she realised just who was perched so neatly upon her chair, and she dropped into a low curtsey before him. “Dark One,” she greeted respectfully, her head bowed.

“That's right, dearie,” the Dark One confirmed. “And I must say, you've sparked my interest,” he informed her with a smirk that she did not see. “What is this place, that you get no visitors?” he inquired. “Surely you're not locked in here, since you just answered the door.”

“It is the library,” Belle answered, and rose from her curtsey. “Well,” she amended, “as near as my father has to one. This room contains the kingdom's records. Census, surveys, crop reports, tax reports, and so on. There are two books of legends, and from one of those I learned what little I know of you.”

There were only three books in the room, bound with leather and set upon a shelf, and Belle had read the two books of legends some five times through, each.

“I have compiled the third myself,” she added with just the smallest hint of pride, which quickly fled in the wake of ruefulness. “Though I admit, it is only a record of business transactions in Avonlea for the past ten years.”

“Quite an achievement for one so young,” the Dark One noted speculatively. “How old are you, little princess?”

“I am not yet fourteen,” Belle admitted.

“Oh? That makes you about the same age as Princess Snow,” the Dark One observed.

Belle nodded in agreement to that statement. “We have met once,” she supplied. “At her mother's funeral. My family went to pay our respects and give condolences for her loss. She sent a letter of apology that she could not come to the funeral of my mother. The weather at the time made the roads quite impassable, and as my family was still in mourning, it wasn't appropriate that we attend the wedding of her father. We sent a letter of apology and a wedding gift though.”

“Very interesting,” the Dark One allowed with slightly bored neutrality. “But to the matter that brings me here,” he said, and tapped a darkly-clawed finger on Belle's writing desk.

Belle nodded. “The ogres,” she agreed. “Will you save my father's people?”

The Dark one smiled, but it wasn't a friendly expression. “I like that you do not question if I can,” he admitted. “And I would be happy to, but all magic comes with a price,” he informed her.

Belle cocked her head to one side as she considered that. “What price would you ask?” she questioned. “You are finely dressed, I cannot think you need for wealth.”

The Dark One's smile grew wider. “You are a smart girl,” he praised. “No, I'm not in need of wealth. I'm quite capable of making gold. As it happens, I find myself in need of an assistant. Someone who can keep notes for me, to whom I may delegate research tasks and who will see to it that my estate is clean and my tea served on time. As I have recently taken on a student, I will not have the time to see to these matters myself as I did.”

Belle nodded in understanding. “With your permission Sire, I would like to pack and write a letter of farewell to my father before I leave with you,” she requested.

“It will be forever dearie,” the Dark One warned her.

Belle frowned slightly. “I do not think it is possible that I can live forever,” she admitted. “But I will go with you, and be whatever you need me to be, for as long as I live, and if there is a way for me to live forever so that I can serve you forever, then I will accept it. In exchange, the ogres will never encroach upon Avonlea and the Marshlands again, even if the kingdom should fall to some other force, or the lands be traded to another kingdom, the lands will be safe from that threat at least.”

The Dark One grinned. “Deal!” he agreed happily, and produced a scroll with a flourish and a small puff of purple smoke. “A contract, to make it all nice and official,” he declared, and plucked Belle's own quill from where it rested on her work table.

Belle stepped up to the Dark One, and her table, and accepted the contract from his hand. She set it down on her table and read it quickly through. She had taught herself to be able to read quite fast, and was fond of the pass-time. Far more fond of the activity than she was of tending her needlepoint. Then again, she was more fond of sneaking down to the kitchen and learning to bake bread (and kneading dough was very difficult when she had first begun such sneaking) than she was of tending her needlepoint.

Satisfied with the terms of the contract as she found them, Belle turned to the Dark One to take her quill from him.

His quiet, approving smile was quite different from the smiles, smirks and grins he had been wearing up until that point, and Belle thought that not many people were sensible enough to read the contracts he presented them with before signing them, if such was his reaction to her doing just that. Even if it made him wait a little, and he was surely busy.

“You have two hours to pack and write your letter,” the Dark One said as he rolled up the contract and tucked it away in his jacket. “I will return for you at that time, and the ogres will be banished from your father's lands in the same instant you set foot upon my estate.”

Belle nodded in agreement. That was what had been written in the contract. She curtseyed to her new master, collected her writing materials from her desk, and hurried off to her room.

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin considered the little princess he'd just acquired while he set the enchantment over the lands of her father and waited for her to ready her belongings. She was a pretty little quandary of a girl. She wore no jewels in her ears or ribbons in her hair, save for one that kept the mass of curls tied away from her face at the base of her skull. Indeed, she wore no jewels at all that might signify her station. Her dress was not the large confection of a thing that he knew other princesses her age wore, covered with lace and beaded embroidery, but rather a humble-looking, practical thing that fell modestly to her ankles. The only thing rich about the dress was the weave of it. The ancient spinner knew quality at a glance, and simply styled and unadorned though it was, that dress was still a rich one.

And she was just entering her teen years. Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes at the realisation. He was going to watch this girl grow and go through the changes that females go through at that age. He was going to have to make sure she continued to have clothes that fit her as she grew.

Well, maybe Regina would be good for that, for a little while.

He'd have to prepare one of the rooms in his castle for her arrival. She was to be his assistant, and he intended her to be useful to him. Giving her a room in the dungeon, however tempting it might be, wouldn't be sensible. Besides, it was actually in the contract he'd had her sign. As she would be living under his rule for the rest of her life – which he fully intended to extend through magical means, if she proved to be as useful as he presently suspected she would be – he would have to meet her needs. It was his duty as her master to see that she had food, clothing, and kept in good health. The bargain was that she would never return to her father's kingdom, save that he might send her for some reason of his own, in exchange for its protection from the ogres.

Really, he was being almost ridiculously generous. Then again, he intended to get rather a lot of work out of the girl, and for the amount of work she would give him, meeting her basic human needs wasn't a great difficulty. He already had to make his own meals, and would have to feed his new student as well, so providing food for a third person was no great trial.

Perhaps he could even delegate the task of going to town and buying what things the castle needed to his new assistant. He would need to have a way to be sure she wouldn't run off though. It was possible that she would come back on her own, for the sake of the contract she had just signed with him, but Rumplestiltskin wasn't inclined to trust people too far out of his sight.

Something to keep her from being 'rescued' as well, as there were certain to be fools who thought he'd stolen the girl away, or enchanted her through foul magic of some sort. Well, he'd figure that out later. He wasn't about to let her leave his estate for the first month in any event, and he was sure he could make a suitable device in that time. He'd made others of equal complexity with but a flick of his wrist in the past, after all.

Presently though, he had half an hour remaining to ready his new assistant's rooms in. Sleeping quarters, bathing room, and perhaps a sitting room where she could indulge in her own private pursuits in the evening when her duties of the day were completed. Nothing as extravagant as the chambers of a princess, he was quite deliberate about that, but comfortable all the same.

Regina was nowhere in the castle while he was doing this. Just as well. He didn't much care for explaining himself at the best of times. His student would learn of his assistant when they met, and not before.

Rumplestiltskin checked the hour, and with one final, satisfied look about the quarters he had just finished arranging, he left his castle once more to fetch the girl. The princess who would now be his servant.

“Are you packed?” he asked the girl as he appeared in her room at her father's castle.

“Yes Sire,” she answered. “And I have left a letter for my father as well, explaining our deal, so that he knows not to search for me.”

“Whether he will abide by that is another matter entirely,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out. “But you will not be held accountable for his actions on the matter, so long as you uphold your end of our bargain.”

“Yes Sire,” she replied.

“And your things?” Rumplestiltskin asked.

“I have packed everything that I believe I will need into this trunk,” the young princess answered, and lay a hand on a hump-backed chest. Then blushed. “At least, everything I will need until I must take to needlepoint,” she amended. “Though I am leaving behind my writing desk.”

“Taking furnishings would be a trifle conspicuous,” he agreed. Still, Rumplestiltskin thought that one single chest of belongings was not very much for a princess to be taking when she was leaving her home behind. Certainly there were dresses for which the skirts would take up the entirety of that space. Then again, this princess did appear to be inclined towards more practical clothing than the ridiculous party dresses her peers were never out of.

With a snap of his fingers, the chest vanished away to the rooms he had readied for his new assistant.

“You'll have a new writing desk at my estate,” Rumplestiltskin promised, having already made those arrangements in his home. “Two, in fact. One at which you will perform the tasks I give you, and one that you may use for your own devices in the evenings. Now come,” he bid, and held out a hand for the girl to take.

With little to no hesitation, and not even a flicker of fear, the child placed her delicate, soft little hand (with only one little callous upon one finger, from where she so diligently held her quill) into his own clawed grasp.

Rumplestiltskin held the hand gently, and let his magic wash over them and transport them to the Dark Castle. A place that was two weeks journey by coach from her home, though this was due more to the state of the roads, rather than the great distance. Not that the Dark Castle was really close to anywhere. It was very thoroughly isolated, but he liked it that way. Kept there from being too much riff-raff bothering him day in and day out.

“This is your room,” Rumplestiltskin informed his young assistant. “Through that door is your bathing chamber,” he continued with a gesture, before he moved to a different door. “And through this door is your sitting room. Through your sitting room you have access to the rest of the castle,” he instructed as he led the way, giving her a brief, brisk tour of his home, which would now also be hers.

He showed her where the kitchen was. She was expected to make his tea, they'd already discussed that. He didn't expect her to cook, indeed he doubted that she could, but if she had any skill at all in the kitchen beyond the preparation of tea, then he would welcome her assistance there as well. He showed her where she could launder her clothing. He would not do it for her, did not particularly expect her to launder his, and certainly would not have her laundering for anybody else. Beyond these, he told her what each room was as they passed through it, and requested that she see to their cleaning only after she had served his tea in the afternoons, and before the evening meal.

“And this is the library,” he presented with a frustrated flourish as he ascended the stairs of one of his castle's towers. “Full of tomes that are a hodge-podge of mixed up magic,” he sneered. “And other, less muddlesome subjects as well,” he allowed.

That said, he ushered her out of the room again, for she had a dumbstruck expression about her face that he was inclined to believe might cause her to not hear what he had to tell her.

“Your primary task, my little assistant, will be to collate the information in those books on magic into a more sensible form. Many of the authors jump about in a completely nonsensical way, for example, from writing about a transportation spell to a theory on how fairy dust works. Also... I only just made it while you were packing, and brought the books I'd had scattered all about the castle here, so it's horribly disorganised,” he admitted with some small frustration. “Categorise the books, and then study the magic tomes. I want fresh works that contain all the information that they do, but by relevance. A book on transportation magic of every kind, another on magic that allows for communication, another for magic that heals, another for magic that kills, another for curses and another for potions, and so on. You see?”

“Yes Sire,” Belle agreed promptly.

“That will be your task in the time from morning tea until after lunch,” Rumplestiltskin said. “In the mornings before then, you will attend me in my work room. You will make notes as I dictate. You will also attend breakfast, lunch, and the evening meal in the main hall.”

“The one with the very large table,” Belle recalled with a nod when he gave her an expectant look.

Rumplestiltskin nodded, satisfied that she remembered the room from their tour thus far.

“When you bring my tea, you may share it with me, at your own discretion, unless I instruct otherwise,” he allowed. “There are no other servants here, little princess. I have a clock-tower that will ring out in the morning, and you had best wake to it. I will show you my workroom tomorrow after breakfast, when you will begin your work for me.”

“Yes Sire,” Belle agreed and curtseyed respectfully to her new master.

Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes at the girl then, as a thought had struck him and it was intriguing enough to him to give it voice.

“Do you know my name, Princess Belle of Avonlea and the Marshlands?” he asked.

“No Sire,” Belle admitted, and dropped her gaze to the floor. “In the only text of my father's kingdom where you were described, you were named only 'the Dark One'.”

“My name is Rumplestiltskin,” he divulged, “and I am able to hear my name from very nearly everywhere, should it be spoken aloud. Names have power, little princess, do not use mine lightly.”

“I will be conscious of it, my Lord Rumplestiltskin,” Belle agreed solemnly and gave another curtsey.

~oOo~

“Who is this?” Regina demanded, politely, the next morning when she arrived in the hall for breakfast.

“Princess Belle of Avonlea and the Marshlands,” Rumplestiltskin answered carelessly. “My new assistant and housekeeper. In exchange for her services about the castle, her father's kingdom is protected from ogres. Belle, this is Queen Regina.”

The child rose from her seat and curtseyed to the woman. “I apologise for not having been in attendance at your wedding, your majesty,” the girl offered.

“You were in mourning at the time, I believe,” Regina deferred uncomfortably as she took her seat at the table. She was approximately comfortable with certain aspects of royal politenesses, raised to it as she was (her father _was_ a prince in his own right, after all), but she was decidedly uncomfortable with being reminded of her marital status. Still, she managed to wave off the apology with appropriate grace. “It's quite alright. Your wedding gift was lovely. Thank you for it.”

The girl curtseyed again, then returned to her chair and resumed eating her breakfast.

“The two of you will have minimal interaction,” Rumplestiltskin informed them both, before turning his gaze on Regina specifically. “Belle will attend me in the mornings while you're busy with your royal correspondences and your horses, and in the afternoons while you have your lessons with me, she will be busy elsewhere in the castle. I do hope, however, that Belle will be able to come to you if she has need for any... particularly womanly advice,” he said with a grimace. “I may be knowledgeable in the field, but I cannot think any girl will be comfortable discussing such matters with me.”

Belle ducked her head and said nothing, but that was quite confirmation enough.

Regina nodded in acquiescence as a faint blush stained her cheeks. She might have bitter feelings against Snow White, and she might have loved forcing her mother through that mirror, but Regina was far from heartless, and it would be heartless to leave the girl under the exclusive guidance of the Dark One in those times when she would need a woman to explain things.

~oOo~

The days passed enough that Belle was fourteen when Regina started coming and going daily from Rumplestiltskin's castle, rather than residing there as she learned from the near-ancient master. The woman was a queen, with a husband and a step-daughter. She could not long get away with constantly being present in the Dark One's castle, rather than her own. Belle was fifteen when Regina left the castle in the middle of the afternoon, rather than at her usual hour, and did not return again the next day, or the day following, or the day that followed that.

Rumplestiltskin took to leaving the castle to meet with a new student not long after.

“She's not likely to amount to anything,” he told Belle freely, “but she has some small amount of potential, and she has agreed to give me a locket full of fairy dust in exchange for the lessons. Still, I'll not have another student _in_ my castle again. They cause far too much mess.”

Belle could only tuck a smile away at that last comment, for he was the one who collected treasures and trinkets like a male bower bird in the mating season.

Belle was sixteen when Regina returned to Rumplestiltskin for more lessons in magic. She was eighteen when Rumplestiltskin decided that he had nothing left that he wished to teach to Regina, and sent her back to her husband and kingdom.

All that time, Belle had slowly been learning magic as well. She was not Rumplestiltskin's student, not technically, and she only ever attempted to perform very small magic, and that very occasionally (she knew that all magic had a price, whether that magic was designated as 'light' or 'dark', and she was cautious of it), but nonetheless she learned.

He dictated to her what he had done with his potions, and what their result would be (or should be if it was experimental), so that she could record it for the tome she was compiling on the subject. She overheard a lesson or two between him and Regina when she brought the tea that signalled a break in whatever the queen was being taught that day. She read, extensively, on every magic there was for the sake of categorising each spell, method, curse and theory as Rumplestiltskin required of her.

When she had first laid eyes upon the Dark One's library, Belle had thought that there were more books contained there than she could read in a lifetime. She was finding herself to be somewhat disabused of that notion now. Then again, she had already taught herself to read in such a manner that was both very thorough and extremely quick even before she bound herself so.

She took a new book with her to her sitting room each night, desirous of a tale she could enjoy after her busy days. Sometimes, however, the book that she took from the shelves of the library to fill her evenings were not grand tales, but rather great texts, veritable encyclopaedias of knowledge. By reading them all in this way, Belle was also able to categorise each book correctly and appropriately shelve it the next day – and save for the books on magic, which she read over and over again to collect all the information from them for her work for Rumplestiltskin – she never read any book twice.

In four years she had read all but five books of Rumplestiltskin's incredible library. She knew, however, that he had still more books in his work room – and all of those were exclusively on the subject of magic – but she would not have access to those books until she had completed the sorting and compiling of those books on magic that were contained in the library that she presently had access to.

It was a task that she had almost completed, to her own amazement. Equally stunning to her was that, in four years, she had finally cleaned every room in the Dark Castle, save for Rumplestiltskin's private chambers, but he did not permit her into those any way. She had laundered all of the curtains too, though she had needed to use a little magic to safely take them down so that she could do so. Thankfully, he did not nail them down again when she re-hung them, so they were able to appreciate natural light when it was available to them. Belle had even scrubbed the floors of the dungeons until they were spotless and gleaming, and transformed the gardens of the Dark Castle quite completely.

Belle was actually quite proud of the gardens, and particularly she was proud because she knew Rumplestiltskin also enjoyed them. When she arrived, it had been little more than a great tangle of weeds. Now, there were ornamental gardens with carefully sculpted hedges that lay between the castle and the gate; there was a vegetable garden that supplied the kitchen (and Belle had learned, in four years, how to make more than just bread and tea, which she was also quite proud of); there was even a part of the garden dedicated to the growing of straw and hay. The former was for her master to spin with, the latter was to help feed some of the few animals that Rumplestiltskin had permitted to be kept.

A ram for his wool exclusively, a pair of ewes that gave milk as well as wool, the lambs that came to these sheep in season that were killed for their meat and their soft downy pelts, and they had a dog that Rumplestiltskin himself trained to mind the animals and bring them in from the fields as needed. They even had a coop full of chickens – no roosters though, just hens, and the eggs they gave.

Yes, Belle was very pleased with her ability and industry since she had come to attend upon the Dark One.

Not only that, but she discovered that she admired her master. His sense of humour was sometimes dark, but that was hardly a surprise. His great neutrality though, that was far more interesting. The way he dealt with all people with such equanimity. He held all people in equal disdain, but helped them all just the same. For a price.

Her master, Belle had learned, was a great businessman, and his business dealings intrigued her. It was her intent, when she had completely finished with the library and its books, to begin to properly compile one of her own – a record of all her master's deals, if he would consent to share his history with her.

Most likely he would not, or at least, not easily. Belle knew this, as she had managed to wiggle a few stories out of him over the years – but only a very few. Her master was very private, and did not like to speak of the past very much at all. No matter how long forgotten or how recent it might be. There was no way that Belle could make a record of all his deals if he did not speak of them either; he had been making deals for centuries.

If he did not wish to speak to her of all of his deals from the past, then Belle could at least document those deals which he did tell her of, and those which had occurred during her service to him. It would certainly be interesting to read in retrospect.

Perhaps, if she asked very politely, those who came to the castle to do business with Rumplestiltskin might tell her of any deals made by him that had occurred before Belle had come to be in his service. She was certainly the youngest of those he dealt with presently.

Belle would also make a record of all the treasures that her master kept in his castle. Such a task would allow her to ask him how each trinket came to him, though she could not ask about every piece all at once, and she would be able to learn more of his deals that way. If he were inclined to answer her.

Occasionally he did already, but just as often he did not, merely glancing over at the object and giggling or sneering at it instead.

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin had a good memory. No, he had an excellent memory. He remembered every deal he'd ever struck, every link in the chain that it was towards getting just that bit closer to reaching his son. He'd put every monarch on their throne in one way or another.

Without his help, King Midas would not have met his wife, dead though she was now. Cora most assuredly wouldn't have lived to marry Prince Henry, let alone birth Regina, without his interference. He had arranged the survival of King George as an infant when he became sickly; he had a hand in the birth of the late Queen Eva's mother; he provided King Leopold's father to his grandparents in a deal... and Aurora's mother wouldn't have been conceived without a potion from him. Such a shame Maleficent wasn't happy about some of the events that had followed that last one, but he'd been extremely discrete about the whole thing (as he always was), so she could hardly be upset with  _him_ .

Presently, the particular memory he was dwelling on was a date. A simple little date. Regina had, that first year that Belle had been with him, given the girl a birthday gift on the day the child had turned fourteen. A full six years had passed since then, and as Rumplestiltskin watched the sun rise, he knew the date to be that of his assistant's twentieth birthday.

She would be betrothed by now, if she had still lived under her father's care in Avonlea. Betrothed... and probably unhappy, given what he knew of the girl. Woman. After six years of exposure to her company, he knew Belle quite well by now.

The tricky thing was that, though he knew her quite well, he had no idea what she might like for a birthday gift. He'd never contemplated giving her one before. The first year she was with him, Regina had. That was how he knew the date, but after that... there had been no gifts. Regina and Belle had no interaction at all by the time Belle was fifteen, then the Queen hadn't been about for the girl's sixteenth, and it seemed utterly awkward to give a girl a seventeenth birthday gift, for some reason.

Probably because that was the age she would be expected to start considering looking at her suitors, and begin determining which of them she would grace with the honour of her hand.

Rumplestiltskin winced. He knew Belle. She'd choose literature over the company of any knight or courtier, and her father would have ended up choosing someone for her. Likely someone completely unsuited to her, but who was an ideal choice politically.

The prospect turned his stomach, and he was glad that she had called upon him before such an ill-suited fate could befall her.

Twenty, however... that seemed too significant to be ignored, somehow.

The bell of his clock-tower rung out, and Rumplestiltskin found himself recalling the day the girl had actually scaled  _that_ tower, taken to all of the gears with a greased rag, and even polished the bell. The only thing that had kept her from falling to her death had been the rope she'd had the good sense to tie about her middle and attach to the most sturdy of the rafters.

He'd had to reel her in from where she was dangling, but at least she hadn't gone  _splat_ . She'd proved herself to be very good help, and that was so hard to find. Belle had made herself quite vital to his own continued comfort. He even enjoyed her efforts to document and record – accurately – the history of his deal-making. It was quite pleasant actually, the way she drew out of him the dates on which he had made his deals, as well as what had been given and taken in turn; the magic or object requested, and its necessary cost.

She had even learned about his son, and his wife, and his entire sordid history. (She'd asked why he had a severed hand in his collection the first time it had twitched when she dusted it, and though he'd hardly given the story over easily or wholly at that time, eventually the entire sorry tale had followed over the course of the ensuing months.)

Rumplestiltskin, dressed already, moved down to the kitchen. There was the dough Belle had set on the mantle over the hearth, which had been banked the night before but not put out. As always, the dough had risen over night, and was now ready to be baked this morning. Rumplestiltskin turned it out into a pan, stoked the fire and set the pan in place so that the dough could become bread. While the bread sorted itself out, he went out to the chicken coop and fetched eggs. Scaly hands slid carefully under warm, feathered bodies and extracted warm, pink-brown eggs. He would leave milking the ewe to Belle though, and she had quite taken over all the cooking duties these days, unless he made special effort or gave her instruction to leave it to him for once.

“Good morning Sire,” Belle greeted with a slightly-sleepy smile when he returned to the kitchen. The girl was never quite awake, first thing in the mornings. No, not girl. Woman. Well and truly a woman now. Still, she needed her first cup of tea with breakfast in the morning to wake fully.

“Good morning Belle,” he answered her. “And... happy birthday,” he offered.

Belle blinked – whether in surprise or an effort to drive out the sleepiness, he wasn't sure – and cocked her head to one side as she considered his words. Then a smile lit up her face.

Rumplestiltskin felt that the expression was quite literal, in her case. When Belle smiled, it was like the sun had come out from behind a cloud and shot a beam of light down specifically to illuminate her face, and nothing else. The whole world faded into a duller shade in comparison when Belle smiled. It hadn't used to be so, but as her features sharpened over the years, matured, her smile had become what it now was. Illuminating.

“Thank you Sire,” she replied happily.

“Mm,” he said and set the egg basket down. “Twenty today. I think that merits a gift from your old master, perhaps?” he offered. “What would the lady like? A new book?” he suggested.

Belle bit her lip. “A loom?” she requested, though she didn't look entirely certain of her request.

Rumplestiltskin could hardly but help to lift an eyebrow at that. He knew Belle. Knew of her voracious love of learning, her delight in books – be they works of fact, fiction or philosophy – and was surprised she had not requested a book. Then again, he did continue to bring back more books from his deals over the years, and she was only half-way through sorting and collating the magic books in his work shop (having finished those in the library). He supposed it made sense that she would ask for something he did not provide to her in plenty at all times.

But he also knew she took no delight in her needlepoint (she could do it well enough, certainly, but she didn't _like_ it). Not that weaving was anything like needlepoint, not really, but still. It was an odd request from the girl. Woman.

“I would... You spin so much... I would like to see what your thread is like when it is woven,” Belle confessed, and a blush tainted her cheeks as she dipped her head in an effort to hide it.

Rumplestiltskin smiled a soft smile. “I will weave you a cloak of my thread,” he offered. “You need not ask for a loom to see it done.”

Belle smiled a bashful, grateful smile for him. “Thank you,” she said.

“It will take a while,” he warned.

She nodded in acceptance.

~oOo~

“I will not be able to finish your birthday gift today,” he admitted when she brought him his tea in the afternoon. “I must go to see King George. The son I gave him is dead, but still needed. This is a dealing that may actually take a few days of my time, as I will have to deal with more than just King George himself.”

Belle set down the tea tray on the small table that was set aside in Rumplestiltskin's work room just for taking tea at. “I understand Sire,” she said, and she did. Deals were important, and frequently had a time-limit on when they could be made. Her birthday gift was something that was entirely at his discretion to give her, and he was under no obligation to fulfil that promise at all.

Though the view of a loom, large and intimidating, half-strung as it sat in the middle of the room, was really quite wondrous to the young woman when she had sighted it upon her entry. Impressive as it was though, Belle thought she would probably still enjoy weaving as much as she did her needlepoint, which was little to not at all, however pleased she might be with the work when it was done.

Belle set about pouring two cups of tea, sure to add the two cubes of sugar and twist of lemon to her master's cup, which was how he took his tea.

“I will eagerly await your return, and the tales you will have of the deals you will make,” Belle offered along with his teacup.

Rumplestiltskin smiled as he accepted the fine porcelain. “Don't wait too eagerly dearie,” he instructed with a teasing smile that he only pretended to try and hide behind his cup, for he smiled over its edge rather than behind it. “I need more straw.”

They grew a fair bit of straw now, but never anywhere near as much as Rumplestiltskin could spin, so Belle was often sent to town to buy more.

Belle smiled back as she poured a small amount of milk into her own cup. “I'll go in the morning,” she promised. “That will give me time to check what the kitchen is running short of.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded in approval. “Take the cart,” he instructed. “I'm afraid I'll need the carriage, as I'll have to fetch the replacement son for King George – and be sure to wear the amulet I made for you.”

Belle smiled as she blew lightly on her tea. “I never have it off my person,” she said.

They did this every time. Rumplestiltskin had made the amulet in her first month living in the Dark Castle. It was enchanted to protect Belle from attack of both physical and magical varieties, and also to allow Rumplestiltskin to communicate with Belle, no matter where either of them were. It allowed him to find her, wherever she was – and he would know if she ever removed it from her person when she was outside of the castle grounds. That is not to say that she could not remove it, for certainly she could, he'd just know about it in the same instant it was off her pretty neck.

The seemingly simple little trinket ensured that she was able to travel safely, while also making it so that Rumplestiltskin could keep track of her. Because of its communication function, Belle kept it on even while in the Dark Castle, so that she could quickly attend to her master's needs even if she was cleaning a room on the other side of the estate.

“Good,” Rumplestiltskin said firmly, and took a sip of his tea. Then he hesitated. “And you may invite Jefferson and his daughter for tea while I'm gone, if you like,” he permitted, his words quickly delivered, as though he did not want to speak them. He took another sip of his tea.

“Thank you. If you are gone for longer than three days, then I might,” she agreed.

Jefferson was one of Rumplestiltskin's rare associates that he actually... not enjoyed, Rumplestiltskin didn't really enjoy anybody's company (except maybe for Belle's, and that could be put down to simply being accustomed to her presence), but he tolerated Jefferson more easily than most everybody else.

Jefferson was someone to whom Rumplestiltskin made requests for items to be found, and then let him take as much gold in exchange as  _Jefferson_ believed equal to his efforts. With everybody else who did such errands for him, Rumplestiltskin dictated how much gold they would have in exchange for the items they retrieved and delivered.


	2. Chapter 2

“Happy late-birthday Princess Belle!” Grace called out in cheerful greeting as she bounced through the door and launched herself at the woman.

Belle laughed as she caught the child in her arms, and happily swung her about before setting her on the floor again. “Thank you Grace,” she answered. “Hello Jefferson,” she greeted the father of the girl with a smile.

The man doffed his hat with a dramatic flair and bowed to her, and a happy grin was on his face as well when he straightened.

“When Rumplestiltskin let me know you might be inviting us for tea, and mentioned your birthday, well, Grace insisted that I had to fetch you a gift,” Jefferson declared, and removed a colourfully wrapped parcel from his bag.

This was passed to Grace, who presented it to Belle.

“Thank you,” she said, specifically to Grace, though she glanced up at the hatter to add “both,” before returning her gaze to the beautiful child. “Very much.”

“Daddy went to a far away land to get it,” Grace said proudly, her blue eyes bright as she watched Belle peel back the paper.

A book was revealed, and one that Belle was equally surprised and delighted to not recognise at all – which meant that Rumplestiltskin didn't already have this book in his library  _or_ on the shelves in his work room. Just for that alone, this book was a treasure.

“I love it,” Belle declared with a grin.

“You haven't even peeked inside to see what it's about,” Jefferson objected, but he was still smiling as he said it.

“I don't need to,” Belle said firmly. “I've read just about every book in this castle, and I know for a fact that this is a completely new book to grace these old halls. I therefore love it.”

Father and daughter laughed happily at their friend's enthusiasm.

Belle tucked the book, and the wrapping paper, under one arm, and led them to where she had set up the things for their tea party. Grace loved to play tea parties, and Belle had invited them to come for tea.

~oOo~

With Rumplestiltskin's absence from the castle, Belle's daily routine was altered. Quite apart from her trip down to the nearest town for supplies the first day he was gone. After breakfast, she immediately began her task of reading through her master's books, cross-referencing and collating information. This was simply bringing forward the duties she would have begun after morning tea, as Rumplestiltskin wasn't about to dictate to her a potion experiment while he was away from the castle.

She continued this task until lunch, when she stretched her back, cracked her fingers, and after a hearty meal for one, she set about the castle chores (cleaning, gardening, feeding the animals) until it was time for tea. She took the rest of the day for herself from that time.

It was during this time on the day after Jefferson and Grace had paid her visit for tea that Belle was reading the book she had been gifted, only to be jolted out of her focus by the slam of the castle door.

Belle smiled to herself. Her master was home.

She set aside her book, and checked the teapot. She liked to linger over her tea, but only had the time to do so when her master was away. Now, it was a fortuitous thing, for she had the tea ready for her master now that he was returned – and yes, the tea was still hot. Perfect.

Rumplestiltskin marched into the hall, spared a long look for his spinning wheel, and clearly decided against taking a seat at the fine contraption, for he threw himself down instead into his chair at the head of the great table – and dropped a satchel on the table beside him.

Belle poured his tea, added the sugar and the lemon, and silently set the cup before him.

Rumplestiltskin blinked at the white piece of crockery (apparently he hadn't registered her presence in the hall upon his own entry), and looked up at his assistant, who smiled back down at him.

“Welcome home Sire,” she offered. “May I take your coat?” She knew better than to touch a bag her master carried in from one of his trips. He would have things collected from his deals in that bag. He would choose their places, and he alone. She'd get to ask about them, but later. It seemed his days away from the castle had been trying on him.

Rumplestiltskin sighed, and a weight seemed to fall from his shoulders. He nodded, stood, and removed his dark coat, with its red-dyed crocodile skin embellishments. Tiredly, he handed it over to her, then slumped back into his chair. He had just spent five days in the same clothes. He was glad to remove even a little of it.

Belle frowned at the odd weight that was in one of the sleeves, and fished out a small flask from within one of the cuffs.

“I have had an exhausting few days, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin defended himself, not even looking up from his teacup to see the look he did not doubt that she was wearing. He knew she didn't like it when he drank. If he was completely, totally and utterly honest (which happened more often in Belle's presence than anybody else's), he didn't much care for it either. Still, there were times when it preserved him enough to see through the harder deals. “And I only had a little, yesterday, while dealing with the boy who is to take his brother's place as King George's son.”

Belle sighed, and tucked the flask away as she folded the coat over her arms. “I'll go draw you a bath, Sire,” she said, rather than addressing his having had a flask at all. He had tea before him now, and he was drinking that with an expression of truly reverent relief.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a nearly hoarse whisper.

Belle smiled a little sadly, then hurried out of the room to her master's chambers, though she did stop briefly along the way to leave the coat in the laundry. Belle drew a bath of hot water, and mixed in salts that would ease the aches her master had certainly gained over the days he had been gone. She set fresh, soft towels out, as well as a scrubbing brush, wash-cloth, and soap. Five days in the same clothes... her master would most certainly wish to cleanse himself.

She doubted he had even truly slept while he was gone, with how very weary he looked – not that anybody less familiar with him than herself would be able to tell.

This belief was confirmed to Belle when she returned to her master's side and found him, chin to his chest and eyes closed as he sat in his chair, teacup empty and returned to its saucer on the table.

“Your bath is drawn, Sire,” Belle said softly, and received only a tired grunt in return. “Let me help you to it,” she requested, and upon receiving only another grunt, she took him by his arms and heaved him up.

Rumplestiltskin was asleep on his feet, but on his feet he was, and he walked as she guided him, even up the stairs to his rooms.

Belle sat him on a stool in his wash room, and gently stripped him of his clothes. First his shoes, which this day were simple, small things with a fine buckle – the better to show off his very complicated trousers. Belle set Rumplestiltskin's shoes aside, tugged off his stockings while she was there, and then moved to his vest. It was one of his more complicated vests, and needed to be unlaced before it could be removed. The red silk shirt beneath, well, that was a far easier matter. It slipped right off his shoulders, having been held in place by the vest, as it had no fastenings of its own. Except at the wrists, but that was easily dealt with.

Which just left the trousers. Belle was certain her master used magic to get into them. They laced up from the hems at his ankles all the way up to his waist, straight up the front of each leg. It was certainly an effective look in its entirety, but also so time-consuming to loosen. Tightening it could be no quicker – save magic was involved. At least the trousers were fully lined, with a dark red silk. This lining prevented the lacing from cutting into her master's skin, and also made the closely-fitted trousers easier to slide off once she had loosened the lacing enough.

Belle blushed at the sight of her master, naked and so weary before her that he did not even grunt in objection to her handling of him. What could have wearied him so? Five days with little sleep would not be enough alone to set him in such a state – he had gone a full week without rest before, and been less tired. Belle wished to know the cause, but did not give voice to the question as she manoeuvred Rumplestiltskin into the steaming water.

He groaned his pleasure as he sank into the water up to his shoulders.

Belle moved the stool so that it was behind her master's head, and took one of the wash-cloths in hand. The book that Jefferson had given her had been on a subject called 'massage', and though she was not finished reading it, she was certain she had learned enough for what she was about to attempt. She wet her master's hair with the warm water from the bath, and with a lather of soap over her hands, she began to massage his head all over. From his brow to the base of his neck, she worked the lather through his hair and gently raked her nails over his scalp.

A blissful little smile spread over Rumplestiltskin's face as another groan, pleasured, rumbled through his chest.

Belle blushed a little with pride, and assured that she was doing _something_ right at least, she persisted in her self-appointed task. She rinsed the lather from his hair, and continued to massage his neck, then his shoulders, then she drew each arm out of the water, one at a time, and massaged them as well, from the shoulders right down to the tips of his clawed fingers. His skin, inhumanly coloured and lightly pebbled with scales in some places though it was, was soft and smooth beneath her hands. And it stretched over delightfully steel-chorded muscles.

Rumplestiltskin sighed happily, and finally opened his eyes, though they only came to half-mast.

“Belle,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

“I'm glad you're home, Sire,” she replied, unable to answer “you're welcome” to him – it sounded too trite in this strange set of circumstances they presently were in. “If you will excuse me now, I had best start on the evening meal.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, thank you Belle. A hot meal after my bath would be wonderful.”

“I'll take your clothes down to the laundry on my way,” she added as she stood.

Rumplestiltskin gave no answer but to nod that he had heard, though he watched her as she gathered his dirty clothing and left his chambers, and he groaned again when the door closed behind her.

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin was much more lively at dinner, his aches soothed by the hot water of his bath – and by Belle's thoughtful, tender ministrations – and fresh clothes on his person for the first time in days. The meal was a rare treat – fish. It was hard to get fish that was not rotten, this far from any coastline and so high in the mountains. The merchant that had brought the fish to the market had brought his stock up alive and swimming still in his special cart made of expensive glass.

Belle had seen his wares and gone to buy a simpler box, sealed tightly so that it would not leak, then returned to buy two fish from him. She had dutifully kept them alive in that box until this evening, feeding them grain to fatten them.

Rumplestiltskin took delight in the meal, and also took delight in recounting the tale of his venture that had begun with the summons from King George. Of course, it was only called a 'summons' because of how imperiously King George had demanded aid. Rumplestiltskin owed no allegiance to the man, but he had a vested interest in seeing a certain son of a peasant on the man's throne – not that he told the King that, of course.

Rumplestiltskin told how, in exchange for a new son, King George had given him information about the location of a certain fairy – or jellyfish, as he called them – and Rumplestiltskin had made a detour to find this particular jellyfish after he had been to fetch the new son. It was a very scenic rout he took as he journeyed home.

“And she was seducing a foolish girl into believing that magic could solve all her problems,” Rumplestiltskin sneered. “I did the girl a favour, killing that jellyfish.” He snorted. “I did all the realms a favour,” he corrected himself. “No one will miss her. Then the girl begged _me_ to help her, rather than taking the initiative to change her life for herself. Well, when she said she would do _anything_ , give me _anything_ , in exchange for my assistance, how could I refuse? I did, naturally, warn her that there would be a price, consequences to her actions. More than once, even. She can't say she wasn't warned.”

Belle smiled a smile that only someone who had known Rumplestiltskin since near-childhood would dare to smile. The smile of someone who knows what is coming next, roughly, and is eager to hear the exact details.

“Did she even read the contract you offered her?” Belle asked, amused.

“No,” Rumplestiltskin answered easily. “Just snatched up the quill and signed away... actually, I'm not sure you want to know,” he said, halting his tale as he turned a speculative eye on her.

Belle raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her master. She'd heard a great many tales of his deals by now – she'd chronicled them, and would continue to do so. She very much doubted anything Rumplestiltskin bartered for would shock her any more. Not after the tale of how he'd come to have those two unfortunate dolls.

“Oh fine,” Rumplestiltskin relented, and withdrew the contract the girl had signed from his bag, which still rested upon the table. “See for yourself the flimsy deal that the girl agreed to.”

Belle set down her silverware and took up the ream of parchment, aware that her master continued on with his meal while she quickly read the contents of the document.

“It is a little flimsy,” Belle allowed when she was done, “but at the same time, utterly iron-clad. Your wording as to what she will receive and when is a little vague, but what you will take as payment is very clearly specified,” she said, and set the parchment aside. Her silverware was taken up once more. “Who are you going to give her baby to?” she asked curiously.

Rumplestiltskin's brows shot up. “You're not objecting to my taking the infant when the time comes?” he enquired, surprised.

Belle shrugged. “I know that you took James as a baby to King George,” she reminded him as she carved another bite of her fish. “That family was willing to trade one of their children with their eyes wide open, just to save their farm, and that was just one instance. I know you've done this before, and done it well. This girl said anything when she made her deal with you, didn't she?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded.

Belle closed her lips over the bite of fish she'd carved, chewed, swallowed, sipped her water, and continued. “Alright, so perhaps she should have thought to at least take the time to read the contract before she signed it, but you warned her about prices and consequences,” she decided firmly.

Rumplestiltskin smiled in that soft way that he so rarely did, but always seemed to reserve for Belle when he smiled that smile at all.

“Which just leaves my earlier question,” Belle persisted as she collected some greens onto her fork daintily. “Who are you going to give this baby to? I know you never actually keep them for yourself when you make deals like this.”

“I thought I might give the babe to the old woman who has now given up both of her sons to King George,” Rumplestiltskin admitted. “Her home will be stable with the funds she received for surrendering David, and she raised her boy well. Besides, she'll need someone to take care of her as she ages, and I'm sure I could convince her to part with a sheep or three in exchange. Ours are getting a bit old.”

Belle smiled. “Underneath all the dark leather and scaly hide you wear, you're a good man, my Lord Rumplestiltskin,” Belle teased, though she was sincere as well.

“Ooh, watch your tongue dearie,” Rumplestiltskin warned her playfully. He even went so far as to wag a finger at her. “You say things like that, I may just have to go out of my way to prove you wrong.”

Belle laughed. She knew he would do if she pressed it, but she didn't mind. “I never said it wasn't something buried deep, deep down under miles and miles of distrust and darkness,” she answered freely.

Rumplestiltskin nodded firmly, satisfied with that. “And don't you forget it.”

“So, the shepherd agreed to take his brother's place?” Belle pressed, eager for more of the story.

“Oh that he did,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. “Should he survive his attempt to slay the dragon for King Midas, and I'm fairly confident that he will, then I do believe that the lad is going to have a very interesting life.”

“I'm fairly sure that's a curse in one of the lands of this realm,” Belle quipped thoughtfully. “'May you live in interesting times'.”

“The trouble with a curse like that, dearie, is that it touches more than just one life,” Rumplestiltskin said, his tone far more serious than playful now. “'Interesting times'? Ooh, so very general. And interesting times are imminent upon us. The Queen has made her step-daughter, Princess Snow White, an outlaw and a fugitive. That will have quite the effect on rather a lot of lives.”

“Ours?” Belle asked, equal parts cautious and curious.

“Eventually, if Regina lives long enough, it will most certainly have an impact on everyone,” Rumplestiltskin allowed with solemnity and a shrug. “Immediately? Not so much, and less for you than for me at that. However, if you like, I may send you off on an adventure, and to somewhere a bit further afield than the town.”

“That... might be nice,” Belle mused, a thoughtful frown on her face. “And possibly useful. A chance to make allies, in the unlikely event that allies should ever actually be needed, and I could potentially barter for items that people would be reluctant to give to you.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled at that. Yes, his Belle was truly an excellent assistant.

~oOo~

It had been a nearly peaceful year. Little enough had happened that Rumplestiltskin bothered to involve himself with. A few deals, nothing grand, but large matters in the lives of small people. It was known though that Prince Thomas was searching the length and breadth of his father's kingdom for a girl he had danced with at some specific ball, and who had left behind only a glass shoe when she vanished into the night.

It wasn't going too well for him so far, but he was certainly persistent.

The Shepherd had slain the dragon, and been offered by King Midas (and forced to accept by King George) the hand of Princess Abigail. Nothing to do with them, well, not directly and not yet, in any event.

Snow White was doing well for herself, even as a fugitive she was making friends and influencing people. Including a werewolf girl who knew of Rumplestiltskin, and who told Snow White about him, for just in case the knowledge was needed. Innocent little lamb had no real knowledge of magic beyond the Blue Fairy (damn jellyfish) after all, and the one time she'd gone to call on her, she'd been found by Cora in disguise instead. As such, this was important and useful information for the fugitive princess to have.

But not yet relevant.

“We have a guest,” Rumplestiltskin informed Belle when he joined her for breakfast in the kitchen.

Belle frowned. “This early?” she questioned.

“He arrived last night,” Rumplestiltskin clarified. “He attempted to rob me.”

Belle grimaced at that. “Not a very intelligent guest then,” she recognised.

Rumplestiltskin smirked back. “Indeed not,” he agreed. “I will torture him, you will care for him, some time in the next two days you may 'help him escape'. I wish to know what, exactly, he would risk his life for in this way. Desperate people really ought to know that I'm more than open to make deals, but I will not tolerate theft.”

“And when you know?” Belle queried.

“Well, that depends on his reasoning,” Rumplestiltskin answered with vague simplicity and a dismissive gesture. That particular subject was closed.

“He'll get water and bread, less of the latter,” Belle decided. “For _our_ breakfast though, I've already fetched the eggs, and have fried us two each to go with the sausages I got from the market a few days ago, and the bread will be ready soon.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “How ever did I manage without you?” he asked teasingly.

Belle smirked. “Well, immediately before me, there was Zelena,” she pointed out. “Before that, I'm really not sure. Well, you managed to raise Baelfire on your own, and you didn't actually come to possess a castle until you'd been the Dark One for a hundred years already. You even kept the original servants on, until they all died or ran away. I'm still a bit lost as to what you did in the intervening hundred-and-fifty-odd years though,” she teased.

Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes at the blue-eyed, brunette beauty that inhabited his castle with him. “Sometimes dearie, I wonder if maybe you don't know  _too_ much about me,” he said, mock-sternly.

“You're my master,” Belle said with a shrug as she brought their plates to the kitchen table. “I should know about you. It lets me better anticipate your needs. Did the thief have anything of worth?” she enquired as she sat down.

“A bow,” Rumplestiltskin answered, allowing the subject to be redirected. This line of conversation was more to his tastes in any case. “Enchanted so that any arrow fired from it is certain to hit its target. Even if the arrow has to go around corners to do it.”

Belle blinked at that. “Useful,” she decided. “What was he after?”

“One of my collection of fairy wands.”

Belle grimaced. “A bad idea on top of a bad idea,” she said.

Rumplestiltskin giggled at that. “He's just not smart like you, dearie, but then, so few people are. You know, I'm half-tempted to have you watch as I torture the man. It would be educational,” he pointed out with a smile and another giggle.

“If you do... I think it would be best for him not to see me then,” Belle said. She'd gutted fish and butchered lambs, among other things. A person was not the same, but she was fairly resistant to the sight of blood by this time. “Only when I bring him his meals. Will you use magic to heal him after you've tortured him? Or will I have to treat his injuries?”

“Oh, I'll make sure he doesn't die and that he stays in one piece, but not much beyond that. I'll give _you_ something to put in his water that will properly heal him though,” Rumplestiltskin decided. “Something to help him 'escape' more efficiently, and without tracking too much blood over my lovely clean floors.”

~oOo~

Belle watched from under an invisibility spell as Rumplestiltskin stripped his prisoner – and revealed to her eyes that the upper anatomy at the very least was the same between her master and an ordinary man. Rumplestiltskin had even erected a small magical barrier around her, so that she would not be splashed with blood by his activities. He was wearing an apron to save his own wardrobe.

Belle had a portable writing table upon her lap, and was making careful notes of each carving her master made on the body of his prisoner. The screams were... disquieting, but Belle was able to make herself watch with a clinical sort of professionalism.

She would never likely have a better lesson in what was inside a person.

Rumplestiltskin stopped for his morning tea, and waved the door open ahead of him. Belle knew that was her cue to leave. Just as in the past this time had been given to her taking notes on potions as dictated to her by her master in his work room, now she took notes in the dungeon. After they had shared morning tea though, she would once more attend to her duties with her master's books – the collation of his magical texts was almost completed. She was just binding now. Well, except for the records she kept of his experiments. That was on-going, and likely would be until her dying day – and beyond, though with her death there would likely be no one to do her task any more.

The screams from the dungeons continued as Belle worked. She forced her hands to remain steady despite the sudden screams that nearly made her jump so many times. Not in fear so much as simple shock, taken by surprise as she was each time. There was hardly a rhythm that she could anticipate, after all. Whenever the noise reached her, sharp and sudden and loud, Belle wondered how the man still had the strength to scream, but she knew that Rumplestiltskin was keeping him alive, even if only barely.

Belle left her work to prepare lunch, and set the meal for herself and her master upon the table, along with an extra plate and cup, which would be used to carry the prisoner's meal to him, after her master had eaten.

Rumplestiltskin escorted her to the dungeon.

“Can't have you starving to death before I'm done with you,” Rumplestiltskin informed the prisoner with a cruel grin.

Belle tore off strips of bread and fed them to the man, then let him drink the water when the bread was gone.

“Now off with you dearie, you've cleaning to do,” Rumplestiltskin instructed brusquely.

It was an act, entirely for the thief's benefit. Belle played her part by curtseying demurely, eyes kept low, before she hurried out of the door.

She did, in fact, have cleaning to do, but that wasn't something that got done until after they had shared tea. Rumplestiltskin continued to torture the man until the evening meal, after which he retired to his spinning.

The following day, this routine was repeated – until the mid afternoon. After they had shared tea, Rumplestiltskin grimaced and admitted he had an errand with Regina.

“Shall I 'aid' your prisoner while you're gone?” Belle asked.

“Ready the carriage first,” he instructed as he pulled on his coat. “So that as soon as I return, we can go after him.”

Belle nodded her acceptance of these orders, and when her master was gone she went to the coach house and stables. When the carriage was ready, Belle took the water that Rumplestiltskin had laced with healing potion to the dungeons, and the prisoner. Then the  _real_ acting began.

“Did he send you to finish the job?” the man asked weakly, strung up in the middle of the dungeon cell as he was.

“No,” Belle answered. “My master has gone out. Here,” she offered, and brought the cup to his lips. “Drink this. It has one of his healing potions in it.”

Gratefully and eagerly, the man drank.

“I couldn't let this continue,” Belle said as she stepped back from him and moved to release the rope that held the man's chained wrists high over his head. “It's... inhuman.”

“I couldn't agree more,” the man answered, gasping for breath through the pain of the healing potion as it worked through his body, curing the ails inflicted upon him. “But I fear now he'll turn his wrath on you.”

“It is certainly possible, but no one deserves to be tortured,” Belle said with firm resolve, and dropped the man to the floor.

He collapsed there, weak.

She withdrew the key that Rumplestiltskin had given her for his prisoner's shackles, and Belle released him from them.

“He may beg to differ,” the prisoner pointed out.

“I don't care,” Belle said pertly. “I have served my master many years; he doesn't frighten me.”

That earned her a very impressed look from the man.

“Hurry,” Belle urged, forcing him onto his feed. “He'll be back soon enough, and I believe he intends to relieve you of your hands next, though I cannot guarantee their being reattached. I know he has the hand of another among his collection, preserved with magic. Its previous owner stole from my master as well.”

That hand was actually one of the few things among Rumplestiltskin's collection that disturbed Belle – not because of how her master had come to have it, but because it was still warm, even though it had been so long separated from its owner. Furthermore, it would twitch as though tickled when she dusted it. Like everything else in the castle though, she had gotten used to it.

The man hesitated at the door of the cell, and turned back to her. “He will... he will kill you,” he said. “Unless... unless you run away with me?” he offered.

“I can't run,” Belle answered, and was glad within herself that there was no expression in his eyes that suggested he wanted her body for favours in exchange for the offer he had just made. The man's eyes never strayed from her face. “I made a deal to serve him,” she explained. “In exchange for him protecting Avonlea and all of the Marshlands from the ogres. If I leave, I may survive, but the people of my homeland surely wouldn't.”

“All I can do is wish you luck,” he realised, and he appeared apologetic of his inability to aid her, when she was the one rescuing him.

“Thank you, but I'm safe enough. If he kills me, then he'll have to do his own cooking and cleaning.” Belle said with a little smile that she allowed to tremble as though doubts and fears had begun to creep. “Go,” she urged.

He went. He stole the wand before he left the Dark Castle though – just as Rumplestiltskin had suspected he would. It seemed the man was very determined to have that bit of magic he had come for.

~oOo~

“I feel almost as though I have somehow been promoted,” Belle quipped as they rode in the carriage.

“Oh?” Rumplestiltskin enquired with an indulgent smile.

“From assistant to accomplice,” Belle explained with a cheeky little smirk.

Rumplestiltskin giggled in delight. “Perhaps you have, dearie,” he teased. “But just for a little while, and are you not  _assisting_ me in this?”

Belle acknowledged the truth of that and bowed her head in deference to her master, though the cheeky little smirk never faded from her lips.

Rumplestiltskin frowned though. “We're losing track of him,” he complained. “This forest is too thick.”

“Maybe we should return home,” Belle suggested, eyes doe-wide and lips pouting hopefully. It was completely insincere, though prettily acted.

“Wha'? And le' the thief escape?” Rumplestiltskin asked, playing into it, and playing up one of his many funny voices. “Wha' would people think, if I le' someone escape 'oo stole from me?”

“That maybe there's a man hiding behind the beast?” Belle teased. “That you're not as dark as you want people to believe? That deep down, there is love in your heart, for something more than power?”

Rumplestiltskin leant forward. “I thought that was our little secret,” he reminded her softly.

Belle blushed a little at how solemnly he whispered those words to her. “You're quite right,” she agreed with a smile, “and it is a secret that I will take to my grave, unless you permit it be told. You really are as dark as people say.”

“Darker dearie,” he corrected her lightly as he commanded the horses to stop. “Much darker.”

Belle bowed her head, but could not fight the smile. Yes, her master was the Dark One, and frightful, and in some ways worse than anybody knew – but he was also better than anybody else would give credit to as well. Only she got to see the side of him that he kept so well hidden from the rest of the world, and that only because she had been in service to him for so long.

The man who thought himself unlovable. The man who called himself a monster until he believed it was the truth. The man who had more layers to him than an onion.

The man who, now, dismounted from the carriage with the 'escaped' prisoner's bow in one hand, and offered her his assistance down with the other.

Belle took his hand, and hopped down as he bid. There were riders coming from the opposite direction, though not at any speed, and among the riders was a cart with bars along its sides. A jail cart, for prisoners to be transported in.

The foremost rider of the party dismounted his steed clumsily, and snatched up a flask from where it had been held at the front of his saddle before, with a sniff, the man turned to them.

“What are you doing in my woods?” the man demanded as he swaggered – a hint of drunken sway in his gait – up to Rumplestiltskin. His uniform gave his position, though his carriage would have suggested a wastrel of him, someone to be put in a cell overnight to sober up, rather than a man of the law.

“Pardon the intrusion Sheriff,” Rumplestiltskin said, using an affected accent. “I'm lookin' for a thief. 'e attacked me with this bow,” he explained, with a gesture to the weapon he carried in his hand. “I traced 'im as far as these woods, an' then 'e vanished.”

“Yes, I know exactly who you're after,” the sheriff confirmed as he examined the bow. Then he looked askance at Rumplestiltskin. “But I also know who you are, Rumplestiltskin,” he named.

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “My reputation precedes me,” he said with a smile, dropping the affected accent. “Excellent,” he declared with a small flourish.

“Yes, as does your penchant,” the sheriff said with a smile – and he swayed a little on the spot as well, “for making deals. I'll tell you where you can find your thief, if you give me something in return,” he said, and took a swig from his flask. As if he wasn't already inebriated enough.

“What do you want?” Rumplestiltskin asked lowly, and just a trifle impatiently.

“A night with your wench,” the sheriff answered with a smirk on his face that was as greasy as his hair as he pointed past Rumplestiltskin to Belle.

Rumplestiltskin frowned and turned. Belle was wearing the cloak he had made for her from thread he had spun himself, a long, warm, modest garment of green and gold that hid her form and her clothing, save for her gloved hands. He knew that beneath the cloak she was wearing clothing that was equally modest. She'd had to appear as an innocent, a victim, to the thief, and there was no time for her to change her clothing before they ventured out after him.

There was nothing about the young woman that suggested, in any way, that she was a wench to be passed around.

Rumplestiltskin turned back to the sheriff. “She's not for sale,” he said simply.

“You can't part with her for say, an hour?” the sheriff suggested. “Twenty minutes?” he bartered hopefully.

Rumplestiltskin lost his patience completely at that last suggestion. “Let me think,” he said, and twiddled his fingers by his brow, as though coaxing forth thought. A moment later, Rumplestiltskin waved his hand.

The sheriff's tongue left his mouth in a small black cloud and, slimy thing though it was, Rumplestiltskin now held it upon his palm. The Dark One giggled as the sheriff struggled to come to terms with the loss of the muscle from his mouth. He should be grateful it had been painlessly extracted by magic, rather than cut off with a blade.

“I propose,” Rumplestiltskin said, as he wrapped his fingers about the muscle, “a new deal. I give you this back, and in return, you tell me everything you know about the man I am hunting.”

The sheriff struggled to articulate, his eyes still fixed on his tongue in Rumplestiltskin's hand.

“You want to be more careful with your possessions,” Rumplestiltskin scolded him in a high, soft voice as he gestured with the hand holding the tongue. “Do you agree to my terms?”

The sheriff grunted.

“What was that?” Rumplestiltskin asked.

The sheriff grunted again, and managed to even get out something that sounded like the very beginning of a positive answer.

“I'll take that as a yes then,” Rumplestiltskin allowed, and returned the tongue with a flourish.

The sheriff gasped in relief to have it back in his mouth.

“Start talking,” Rumplestiltskin instructed darkly.

~oOo~

“You seem dissatisfied,” Belle commented as they rode on in the carriage on their way back to the Dark Castle.

They'd found Robin Hood, watched him use the wand to restore his pregnant wife to health, and Rumplestiltskin had sent Belle down to retrieve the wand – and the thief had given it to her, along with a vow to come to her aid should she ever be in need. Rumplestiltskin still had the enchanted bow as well. Her master had come out of the mess rather well, as far as Belle could judge.

“It's nothing dearie,” Rumplestiltskin answered, but the answer was so absently given that they both knew it to be a falsehood.

Belle decided that this was not the time to press, and instead withdrew her lap table from its compartment beneath the seat and set it across her knees. She had an adventure to record, and her master had made a deal that day. Some people would argue that it was a bit unconventional (and morally wrong) to trade a man's tongue back to him for information, but such people as would make that argument would find no support with Belle. Rumplestiltskin had defended her virtue in that moment, however indirectly it might have been done.

Belle paused in her writing.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?” Rumplestiltskin questioned.

“For protecting me from that man,” Belle answered, and resumed her writing.

Rumplestiltskin watched her in silence for a moment, the way her quill skittered across the parchment, unaffected by the rocking of the carriage.

“You're welcome,” he offered, voice low and gentle.

Belle looked up from her work, smiled for him – and as it so often did when she smiled, Rumplestiltskin observed that the sun had come out just for her and the world dimmed any place that wasn't her lovely face – and the smile didn't fade away as she turned back to her work.

“What did you have to see Regina about?” Belle asked as the road began to rise, up the mountain side that would take them back to the Dark Castle.

“A disguise,” Rumplestiltskin answered. “Girl never learned how to disguise herself with magic, not like her mother did, but that was a very deliberate oversight on my part. I didn't teach Zelena that either,” he added thoughtfully. “Now that I've disguised her once though, I'm sure she'll figure it out on her own fairly quickly.”

Belle nodded. She'd read about that sort of magic. It was... it wasn't easy to take up a disguise and impersonate another. To leave behind your own mannerisms. The magic to hide your form wasn't terribly difficult, theoretically. It took focus though, attention to detail, like any other disguise would.

And it raised a question in Belle's mind that had never crossed her thoughts before. Not even the day she had blushingly stripped her master and helped him into the bath that she had prepared for him. Just what had her master looked like before he took on the curse of the Dark One, back when he was an ordinary man?

Did she dare ask?

Belle shook the thoughts away. Maybe someday she would ask, but not this day.


	3. Chapter 3

Rumplestiltskin had been spinning furiously. No, maybe 'furiously' was the wrong word. Perhaps fervently? Unceasingly, Belle decided as she watched her master at the wheel. He'd stopped experimenting with potions in the mornings, and since Belle was busy with carefully trimming and binding the parchments she had written into books, the only times she saw her master now where at meals – which she had to drag him from his wheel to eat – or when she cleaned in the hall where he spun.

“Master, may I ask why are you spinning so much lately?” she asked cautiously.

“Spinning, watching the wheel... it helps me forget,” Rumplestiltskin answered softly. “For a while, at least.”

Belle knew that there was much in her master's past that he would wish to forget, and decided not to press the matter. Well, not directly, anyway.

“Do you think you will want to forget for much longer?” she questioned.

“I expect so,” Rumplestiltskin agreed.

“Then I'd best go to town,” Belle said. “You'll run out of straw by tomorrow at the rate you're going, and wool by the morning after.”

“Thank you Belle,” Rumplestiltskin said distractedly. “Take some of the gold thread to pay for it.”

“Of course Sire,” she agreed, and reached for the basket that contained the results of his present spinning. She cut a length as long as she was tall, coiled it, and slipped it into her pocket. “I... I'll go down on foot today,” she said. “It will give you some time to your own thoughts, and since the spring has returned, it won't be so difficult a journey.”

“Very well,” Rumplestiltskin permitted, not turning from his attention to the wheel. “Just be sure to wear your amulet. Good help is so hard to find, and I should not like to lose you. ”

“I never take it off,” Belle answered softly, and left to collect her cloak and a basket.

Though it had rained lightly earlier in the day, the sun was now out and most all of the mud and puddles were dry again. Belle enjoyed the fresh air, and the exercise of walking, but she kept a brisk pace. She did not want to leave her master alone for too long. Just two miles from the town, the sound of a carriage approaching from behind drove Belle off the road. She had no desire to be run down, and those who travelled in carriages were often unforgiving to those who came to be in their way, especially those on foot.

The horses and carriage were black, though the latter had a little bone-white panelling, and drew to a halt so the door of the carriage was almost level with Belle. The door promptly opened, and Belle saw a face that she had not for some years.

“Did my carriage splash you?” Regina asked.

“Oh, no,” Belle answered easily, and double-checked her cloak. It was unstained. Then again, it always seemed to be that way. Perhaps Rumplestiltskin had woven an enchantment into the cloth when he made it for her. “I'm fine,” she assured the queen.

“You know, I'm tired of riding,” Regina declared. “Let me stretch my legs and walk with you for a spell,” she requested.

Belle bobbed a curtsey in silent agreement. Rich cloak or not, Belle was aware that she looked more like a peasant than a princess. She always had. It was her preference when living with her father, and then it was her place to dress humbly as a servant, even if her master was the Dark One.

Regina produced a lace umbrella, which she carried over her head as she stepped up to walk beside Belle.

“You carry very little,” she observed as they walked.

“I don't want to be slowed down,” Belle explained.

“You're running from someone,” Regina declared knowledgeably.

At that moment, Belle realised that though she recognised the queen, the queen did not quite recognise her. She supposed she had quite grown from the little girl she had been when they last saw each other. And then there was the amulet, which would cast a slight glamour over her features to any who meant harm to her or to her master. She hadn't realised that relations between Rumplestiltskin and the queen had deteriorated to such a point.

“The question is, master or lover?” Regina asked with a smile.

Belle's head whipped around at the question, but she gave no answer.

Regina seemed to think that was quite answer enough though, for “Oh,” she said. “Master  _and_ lover.”

Belle maintained her silence. She was not leaving her master. Regina was quite wrong on all of her points – but Belle could not help but be curious as to the purpose Regina had in speaking this way.

The woman, all dressed in black, draped a companionable arm about Belle's shoulders.  
“So if I'm right,” she continued. “You love your master, but you're leaving him.”

“I might love him,” Belle allowed. Certainly she cared for her master. Cared for him in a way no other woman he had met ever did. His wife, Milah, abandoned him for adventure. Cora had rejected him in favour of a title and power. Zelena had become obsessive and jealous over him, as though he were a possession, and Rumplestiltskin had been forced to distance himself from her for his own safety. Belle knew of all of them, and knew that her affection for her master was not like that of any of those that had come before her.

As she said those words though, she realised to herself just how well they resonated through her, like a truth she hadn't quite found yet, but was on the verge of knowing.

“But?” Regina pressed gently. “Something is holding you back,” she offered. “Or is something holding _him_ back?” she suggested.

Belle realised then that, though Regina didn't recognise her thanks to the amulet she wore and the years that had passed, Regina still knew who was the master of the woman walking down the road with an empty basket. Still knew her to be in service to Rumplestiltskin. And she was fishing. Belle decided to counter Regina's dangling hook with a false catch.

“Something evil has taken root in him,” Belle admitted cautiously, voicing the view that any who did not know her master as well as she did might give.

“Sounds like a curse to me,” Regina said firmly, “and all curses can be broken,” she added, as if offering comfort. “A kiss borne of True Love would do it,” she suggested, her expression one of 'I speak the truth, however unbelievable it may be'.

Belle gave her a look of true incredulity.

“Oh child,” Regina said quickly. “I wouldn't suggest a girl kiss a man who held her captive,” she assured. “What kind of message is that?”

“Right,” Belle agreed neutrally.

“Besides, if he loves you, he would have let you go,” Regina said frankly. “And if he doesn't love you, then the kiss won't even work.”

“But would a kiss be enough?” Belle asked, feigning nervousness. “He'd... be a man again?”

Of course, Belle knew that her master was a man. It was one of the many secrets she kept safe for him. No one but she knew it.

“An ordinary man,” Regina assured Belle kindly, her smile a poisonous red. “True Love's Kiss will break any curse.”

Belle smiled, and she let Regina think it was a smile given in gratitude for the information. In a way, it was. It was gratitude to the woman for revealing her intentions so plainly. Belle would never betray her master though. Never.

~oOo~

Belle set the basket of fresh straw and carded wool down by her master's feet.

“You're back,” Rumplestiltskin registered. “Did you have a pleasant walk?” His attention was on his wheel though, on his spinning. Not her.

“I met Regina on the road,” Belle answered, and suddenly his eyes were sharply fixed on her face.

“What did she want?” he asked dangerously.

“She did not recognise me, the amulet worked perfectly,” Belle began, and recounted her conversation with the witch queen for her master as she checked the teapot – it seemed he had magicked it to stay warm again – and poured two cups of tea. She certainly needed a cup after double-speaking with Regina and then bartering at the market in town.

Rumplestiltskin frowned. “I haven't ever done that, have I?” he questioned. “Let you go. I've never given you the chance to have an adventure of your own. That amulet you wear prevents you from being free of me, as surely as it keeps you safe from harm.”

Belle found that it was her turn to frown, and she took the thread from her master's hand where he sat. She passed him his tea, and claimed a perch on the bench of his spinning wheel, where he could not avoid her gaze.

“My Lord Rumplestiltskin,” she said firmly, and so rarely did she actually say his name that she knew speaking it would grant her his full attention. She removed the amulet from about her neck as he watched her. “There is nothing, at all, to stop me from doing this at any time, though you would know if I did so, and as such could be at my side in an instant. If I wished, I could leave it behind in the town and continue on my way.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed tightly. Yes, he knew that.

Belle replaced the amulet over her head, and settled it about her neck once more.

“And that is the first time since you gave it to me that it has been off from about my neck,” she informed him. “I will always come back to you.”

“Why?” Rumplestiltskin asked, his voice a soft, incredulous, hopeful whisper.

Belle's heart broke for her master, and slowly she lifted her hands to cup his face, aware that she held his battered heart in that moment as surely as he was holding his breath.

“First and foremost, because I gave you my word,” she said. “I signed a contract that I would serve you for the rest of my life.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “Aye,” he agreed. “But there is more to it than that, isn't there?” he pressed, his words a carefully given whisper, hope carefully hidden away – but heard by her all the same. “You know I've been looking into ways to make you as immortal as I am, so that 'the rest of your life' is just as equal to 'forever'. You'd never find love and have a family of your own, you'd just be stuck with me, forever.”

“I know, and I will admit that I have given some thought in my life to the subject of love,” she told him softly, gently. “To me, love is layered. Love is a mystery to be uncovered. It is hope and despair. It both haunts and fuels our dreams. It destroys our days even as it makes living them so much more wonderful. It endures through everything, but can so easily be snuffed out, lost, or foolishly allowed to slip through our fingers. It is the most delicate and valuable of treasures. A flickering light in an ocean of darkness, a sickness that kills more than any disease, and it is something worth fighting for.”

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin said, her name a breath on his lips as he covered one of her hands with his own free one, pulling that set of fingers away from where they were toying lightly with his curls.

“It is one more thing too,” Belle said with a small smile. “I never thought about love for myself, but rather in an abstract, philosophical sense. Then I figured out something else about love, something that I hadn't learned from all the books in your library. Rumplestiltskin, love is commitment and dedication to the comfort and happiness of someone else before yourself,” she explained, and gave him another, quick little smile.

She tenderly brushed his hair back from his face.

“Drink your tea before it gets cold, Sire,” she bid. “And think of how we can turn Regina's plot about.”

Rumplestiltskin drank down his tea quickly, set the cup aside, and marched up to the great mirror that he kept covered. He didn't really know why he kept it, except that some day he might trade it for something more valuable some day. For now, he tore the cover off it.

“You. Evil. Soul!” he growled at it. “This was you! You turned her against me!” he accused the glass. “You think you can make me weak? You think you can defeat me?” he demanded.

Belle, having read about mirror magic while doing her work for Rumplestiltskin, knew what was going on. If she was only a silly girl, recently taken on by him though, then she would not – and this was what Regina thought she was, so this was the part she would play as her master raged theatrically.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked nervously, as though she feared her master's sanity – in truth, she was only concerned that the glamour would not work while she was in the castle and Regina could only see her through the mirror. But her master would not have done this if that were so, and so she set even that concern aside.

Acting was her duty now.

“The Queen!” Rumplestiltskin declared as he turned on her with a manic flourish. “Your friend the Queen! How did she get to you?” he asked dangerously.

Belle shook her head, affecting being confused and frightened – and oh, there were shivers going up her spine, but not from fear. “The Queen? I don't -”

“I knew this was a trick. I knew you could never care for me. Oh yeah, you're working for her,” he said, his voice soft and sneering as he stalked slowly across the room from the mirror to her – but always in view of the mirror. “Or is this all you?” he asked. “Is this you being the hero, and killing the beast?” he demanded, a demented, dangerous smile on his face.

“It was working -” Belle started desperately.

“Shut up!” Rumplestiltskin snapped.

“This means it's True Love,” Belle begged.

“Shut the hell up!” he ordered her with a roar.

“Why won't you believe me?” she wept.

“Because no one, _no one_ could ever, _ever_ love me!” he informed her, his own nose a mere two inches away from hers, and roaring these words at the top of his lungs.

Rumplestiltskin then grabbed her harshly by one of her arms and dragged her out of the room. He stopped as soon as the doors slammed behind them, and turned to face her. A different sort of frown marred his face for a moment as he considered the arm he had grabbed, and a small glow of purple magic about her arm eased the bruises before they even formed.

“You really are an incredible little actress,” he informed her with a smile, a much kinder one than he had last shown her, as he released his hold on her.

Belle bit back a soft laugh and dropped into a curtsey. “I had an excellent teacher,” she quipped in answer.

Rumplestiltskin giggled at that.

“Well, tomorrow, you will have to go down to the town again. Stay at the inn a few days. We shall make it appear as though I have thrown you out,” Rumplestiltskin decided. “You can even take yourself off on a little adventure, if you like. Do be careful about who you associate with though dearie. I'd hate for Regina to snap you up,” he cautioned.

“I'll be careful,” Belle promised. “And I will continue to wear my amulet, day and night.”

“Good.”

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin was surprised at how much he revelled in the sound of Belle's voice when it came, projected through the bell of a broken trumpet that he had enchanted for his end of the communication with her amulet. The little tales she told him were particularly fascinating.

A dwarf, called Dreamy apparently, gifted Belle with a pouch full of fairy dust, and urged her to join with a completely unknown party seeking the bounty on the head of a monster.

Belle, sensible girl, accepted the dust with what was truly only token reluctance, then went out to purchase a horse of her own, rather than join the hunting party that was seeking that Yaoguai.

“You just remember dearie,” Rumplestiltskin reminded her firmly, “that if you get into any trouble you're to return home to me at once. I'll not have you getting yourself killed.”

“You can't stand your own cooking already, can you?” Belle quipped right back.

“Your bread is better,” Rumplestiltskin admitted, freely and easily, “and the villagers prefer selling straw to you, rather than me.”

“Well, you intimidate them,” Belle pointed out. “Which is perfectly reasonable. You _are_ the Dark One, after all.”

Rumplestiltskin giggled at that.

Seven days passed, and Belle returned to the Dark Castle triumphant. The Yaoguai had been defeated and restored – the tiniest pinch of the fairy dust given to her by Dreamy was enough to turn the monster back into a man. A prince, in fact, by the name of Phillip. Belle also returned with details of the sword of a female warrior called Mulan, a sword that was declared by Mulan to be the most powerful in all the realms. A sword that could deflect magical attacks as easily as physical ones, and which could cut through most anything.

Rumplestiltskin tittered excitedly at the challenge of recreating – or of creating a superior version of – that sword.

“Snow met the shepherd boy while you were away,” he offered with a smile. “It was quite the adventure, and oh! Twue Wuv sparked between them,” he added in a falsely childish voice.

A voice that never failed to get a giggle from Belle.

“Of course, if they want to be together, then Abigail's own love, Frederick, will have to be restored,” Belle pointed out once she'd calmed her giggles.

Rumplestiltskin waved the concern off. “I'll make sure it happens dearie, don't you worry your pretty little head about it,” he declared with an absent-minded certainty. “Though with the wedding having just been announced, I expect one or both of them to call on me in the next few days.”

And call, Snow White did.

Rumplestiltskin returned from that venture with one of the princess's hairs for payment. The potion he supplied her was one that would cause her to forget the shepherd prince, completely. Of course, it was up to her discretion to actually take it.

Belle frowned in confusion at the choice of price.

“Hair?” she questioned. “What use is that to you?” she asked.

“The thing about bottling True Love, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin answered her solemnly as he dropped the hair in question into one of his potion vials. “It's always got an expiry date, because immortal beings don't get to have it, so far as I have seen, and the love will only last for as long as their lives do.”

“You've done this before,” Belle realised.

“Once or twice,” Rumplestiltskin agreed, a little unhappily. “And that first time, I didn't realise that the potion could lose its potency with the deaths of those who had contributed to it.”

“Some reason you're choosing Snow White and David though?” Belle asked curiously. “With Regina's threats to her life...”

“Oh, the princess will live,” Rumplestiltskin said with certainty. “She'll survive everything the Queen throws at her, and David will survive everything King George throws at him as well, and all those challenges will lend extra potency to the potion. Have a little faith in my powers of foresight dearie,” he scolded fondly.

Belle smiled up at her master from where she was seated, taking his dictations. “Yes Sire,” she agreed.

~oOo~

A knock at the castle door took Belle by surprise. Rumplestiltskin was never surprised. Belle had just (finally) finished properly binding the last of the compilations of magics that Rumplestiltskin had her making, and the only thing left to do was wait for the glue of the bindings to dry. As such, she had been awarded the day off, for finally completing that work. Rumplestiltskin was spinning at his wheel, wearing probably the softest clothing he owned – they truly were having a day off, the both of them – and Belle had been enjoying a novel. It was the second time she was reading it (her first time reading any book in the castle through a second time), but the first reading had been at top speed so that she could sort it into its correct place the next morning. This time she was lingering over it and enjoying all the little details she'd missed in her hasty, initial read-through.

As she was the servant at leisure (rather than the master at leisure, which was Rumplestiltskin) Belle rose from where she'd been reclining and went to answer the door.

“Dreamy!” she greeted in surprise, though a smile spread across her face.

“It's actually Grumpy, now,” the dwarf corrected, a bit sheepishly.

Belle's smile crumpled. “Oh, I'm so sorry. What happened?” she asked.

Grumpy shook his head. “It doesn't matter,” he deferred. “We need to talk to Rumplestiltskin,” he said firmly, and gestured to his travelling companion, a woman about Belle's age with very pale skin, and very dark hair.

Belle nodded as she considered the woman. “That is generally the only reason why anybody would come to the Dark Castle,” she agreed. “Follow me,” she offered.

“Belle,” Grumpy said softly as they walked. “What are you doing here?”

“There is a long and complicated explanation that I would love to give to you some day, but the short version is that he's my master,” Belle answered, just as softly.

“Belle...” Grumpy breathed, worry in every line that suddenly appeared upon his face.

“It's not a bad life really,” she insisted as she led them into Rumplestiltskin's work room, where he was spinning, “and he protects me just as diligently as he does any other treasure he owns.”

Grumpy winced at the idea of the sweet woman being a possession of the Dark One. “If you ever want help getting away from him -” he began to offer.

“There'll be none of that, if you please,” Rumplestiltskin cut in. “My deal with the girl is for the rest of her life. I let her take time off now and then, but she cannot leave my service. Now, what do you want? You came here for a purpose.”

“The potion you gave Snow,” Grumpy said, a fierce frown on his face. “It changed her. She's not the same.”

“Of course she isn't dearie,” Rumplestiltskin agreed lightly, as though shocked by the idea that she might be. “It took away her love, left a big whole in her heart. There's no cure either,” he informed the dwarf frankly as he left his spinning behind. “The person she was? I haven't any way to bring her back,” he said in an almost apologetic murmur. “No potion,” he declared as he theatrically threw open a cabinet, “can bring back True Love. Love... it's the most powerful magic of all,” he decreed with soft solemnity. “The only magic I haven't been able to bottle,” he added.

A little lie, Belle knew, but she wasn't about to reveal that secret. It was certainly the only place in that cabinet that was presently vacant, so no one would guess the lie.

“If you can bottle love,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, completely focused on that one little gap in his collection. “You can do _anything_.”

Belle's breath caught in her chest as the implications hit her. She'd studied magic extensively under Rumplestiltskin, knew all the theories, the practicalities, the problems, the short-list of utter impossibilities. Until that moment though, it hadn't quite hit her how very significant it was – to be able to bottle the most powerful magic in all the lands. Even if it did expire with the death of the lovers it was made from.

And Rumplestiltskin was the one to figure out how to do it.

“But you don't care about that, do ya?” Rumplestiltskin asked as he rounded on Snow White. “Now what is it you really want?” he asked her softly.

“I want your help to kill the Queen,” Snow White answered.

“Now we're talkin' dearie,” Rumplestiltskin agreed with a smirk, and crossed the room to a very particular knick-knack that, Belle knew, hadn't been in his work shop the day before. It was still one that she recognised.

A bow and arrow pairing that Rumplestiltskin had enchanted in a very similar manner to Robin Hood's bow. It was not quite the same, but it was close.

“Snow, don't,” Grumpy begged.

Belle wrapped an arm around the dwarf's shoulders. “It's alright,” she comforted him in a whisper as they watched her master string the bow.

“Now what is this?” Snow White asked Rumplestiltskin curiously.

“This,” Rumplestiltskin replied, using a particular funny voice. “Is how you kill the Queen.”

Belle tucked away a smile. His answer was far too direct, and besides, he needed Regina alive. No, he was talking in riddles despite his plain words. It was all in how a person listened, when it came to Rumplestiltskin.

“How will that get me into the castle?” Snow asked, confused.

“No no no no,” Rumplestiltskin tutted. “That's impossible,” he scolded, even wagged a finger at her. What he meant was, of course, impossible for _her_ , and he wasn't going to do that for her either, as it would quite upset his plans to do so. “You have to kill her when she's on the move,” he explained. “When she's on her way -” a flick of his wrist and a map unrolled out of nowhere. “- to the summer palace.”  
The expression on Snow's face was one of mixed resignation and understanding gratitude.

“Fire the arrow from here,” Rumplestiltskin advised, pointing to a single spot on the map, “and you'll be hidden from sight. An arrow fired from this bow... will get you exactly what you need,” he concluded.

Belle smiled at the word-play her master used. What Snow needed was her love back, not Regina dead. It was truly amazing the things that Rumplestiltskin could do. He'd said there was no  _potion_ that could return Snow White to the way she was. He'd said that True Love was the greatest magic of all. He'd said that the arrow fired from that bow would get Snow exactly what she  _needed_ .

“It always finds its target!” he added as he snatched up a golden arrow from the stand that the bow had been resting against.

“I can't stand by,” Grumpy said as he stepped up – between Snow White and Rumplestiltskin. “If you take that weapon, you do it alone,” he informed the princess solemnly.

“That was always my plan,” she replied dismissively as she tucked the map Rumplestiltskin had given her away into her shirt, and pushed the dwarf aside to take the bow and arrow. “So what do I have to do in return?” she asked.

“Do?” Rumplestiltskin asked with a giggle. “You don't have to do anything dearie.”

“Everything comes at a price with you,” Snow White insisted. “Last time you took a strand of my hair. What's in it for you this time?”

“Let's just say,” he hemmed, then put on his best 'crazy' face as he leant right up close to Snow White. “I'm invested in your future.”

Snow White gave him a doubtful look, but left all the same.

“Dwarf,” Rumplestiltskin called before Grumpy could follow after the princess. “Stay, take tea with Belle. She has a story that you now have the time to hear in full.”

Grumpy gave Belle a questioning, not-wholly-trusting look.

“I'll explain everything,” she promised, “as best I can, anyway,” she amended.

“Alright,” Grumpy agreed.

Belle made tea, delivered a cup up to Rumplestiltskin in the tower, then settled herself and Grumpy in a sun room that was immediately off the entryway. She started her tale at the beginning, of a girl who was not then fourteen selling herself into servitude to the Dark One in exchange for protection for her father's entire kingdom against the threat of ogres. She explained that her duties were keeping the castle clean, serving her master his meals, and recording the deals he struck. She explained why she was in the tavern the night they met, and even what she'd done with the fairy dust he'd given her (though she made it sound like she'd used all of it on Prince Phillip). She told how she had learned that sometimes it was very important to see beyond what Rumplestiltskin  _said_ to understand what he actually  _meant_ .

She explained the deal that Rumplestiltskin had made with Snow White while Grumpy was watching on, highlighting things that the dwarf had missed, because he didn't know Rumplestiltskin well enough to spot them.

Grumpy relaxed after hearing that.

He tensed again when he heard, just beyond the closed doors of the room they were taking tea in, the bang of the castle's door being thrown open, and a male voice calling Rumplestiltskin's name demandingly.

Belle raised a finger to her lips, indicating that Grumpy should make no sound, and they listened as Rumplestiltskin took David's cloak in exchange for the information the man needed to save his True Love from herself. Grumpy, Belle saw, breathed a great sigh of relief over the conversation they were listening to through the door, and when Charming had left (Snow White's sarcastic nickname for the man now seemed so much more apt to Belle, having just heard how he talked), Grumpy thanked Belle and would have taken his own leave back to his brothers.

“But you didn't tell me what happened with Nova, and why you're Grumpy now instead of Dreamy,” Belle objected before he could twist the knob on the door.

Grumpy winced, but returned to his seat, and the teacup that she filled for him once more.

“So, the dwarf who gave you fairy dust,” Rumplestiltskin quipped when she returned to his work room, a fresh tray of tea in her hands, the last of their guests finally gone.

“That was him, yes,” Belle agreed. “He's in love,” she said with a smile.

Rumplestiltskin raised a curious eyebrow at that. “I was of the impression that dwarves didn't do that,” he commented.

“So he was told,” Belle quipped back. “Didn't stop him from falling in love... with a fairy,” she declared, and her smile was a grin now.

“He's in love with one of those insects?” Rumplestiltskin demanded incredulously.

“And they were going to run away together,” Belle reported happily, then her expression abruptly soured. “Before the Blue Fairy interfered.”

Rumplestiltskin scowled. “Damned jellyfish,” he growled. “Can't even let the other jellyfish alone so they can be happy. Has to stick her nose in everywhere that it isn't wanted.”

Belle smiled at the familiar sentiments, and made her master a fresh cup of tea. When she turned to bring him the cup, she saw it. The final empty spot in Rumplestiltskin's cabinet had been filled. He had bottled True Love.

~oOo~

“I have a question,” Belle stated as she paused in her dusting.

“What is it dearie?” Rumplestiltskin asked. “You know I don't charge _you_ for answers.”

Belle smiled. He certainly charged everybody else. It was nice to be an exception to that habit of his.

“You might not like the question,” Belle cautioned.

“Well, I'm under no constraints to answer you at all,” he reminded her easily.

“That's certainly true,” she agreed, then sighed. “It's about your True Love potion,” she admitted.

Initially it had just been two hairs, twined about each other and glowing with power. True Love was, indeed, a most powerful force. Given time though, it had... fermented? Fermented into a liquid. A gently bubbling, purple liquid.

“What about it?” Rumplestiltskin demanded lightly.

“Could you use the same process to determine who someone's True Love is?” Belle asked, and her question was only curious, rather than hopefully inquisitive, as someone who was hoping for a positive answer might sound. She simply wanted to better understand. “For example, if two people were in love, but wanted to know if it was _True_ Love, could they find out by giving you their hair?”

“True Love is far too powerful to be common,” Rumplestiltskin informed her, quite without answering her question at all. “There are people all over the realms that have love, may even love truly, but that does not necessarily make it True Love.”

Belle nodded in acceptance. It seemed that was all the answer that she would get on the matter. She went back to her dusting.

“Why do you ask, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin enquired a few moments later.

“Because you deserve the happiness of having True Love,” Belle answered promptly. “I know that having True Love isn't easy, and that you said immortals don't get to have it, but... I still think you deserve that happiness more than anybody. I thought, if you could use the method that you have to create the True Love potion to determine if a person was your True Love or not, then you'd be able to know...” she trailed off.

She shrugged and shook her head, an action Belle used to stop herself from rambling on too much.

“It was just a thought,” she said. “Who did you make the first True Love potion from?” she asked, suddenly curious – the question had only just occurred to her then.

“An almost sickeningly happy couple that have, sadly, been forgotten to history,” Rumplestiltskin answered. “Taran and Eilonwy. They had _eight_ children, before Eilonwy died in labour over the triplets, and the potion soured.”

“Eight!” Belle repeated, shocked. “That's... that's a lot.”

“A boy, a girl, fraternal twins, a boy and a girl, another boy, and then triplets, more boys,” Rumplestiltskin recalled with a chuckle. “If you like, I could even recite their names, and the deals I made with each child as they grew, and their children, and _their_ children, among whom _you_ are counted dearie.”

Belle giggled, and left her dusting to take up her quill. She was always pleased to hear tales of the deals that Rumplestiltskin had made, and as there were eight people to tell the tales of, Belle was certain that she would be treated to a lengthy tale.

Unfortunately – to Belle's thinking – Rumplestiltskin cut himself short as he was just beginning to expound upon the first deal he made with the second child and eldest daughter of the family (and Belle's own maternal grandmother).

“Regina has released Charming into the Infinite Forest,” Rumplestiltskin proclaimed softly. “He'll never get out if I don't get him out,” he grumbled. “But that's just as well for me I suppose.”

“Another deal?” Belle asked, though she knew the answer already.

Rumplestiltskin moved to his cabinet, the one that held all the precious little bottles of different types of magic. Magic that other people didn't even know existed, but that he had bottled all the same.

“I shouldn't be more than an hour,” Rumplestiltskin assured her over his shoulder, and vanished in a wisp of purple.

He had taken the True Love potion with him, Belle noted.

~oOo~

“Belle, I know you wear your amulet all the time, but you're not going to town for supplies today. Nor shall you for some time,” Rumplestiltskin informed her flatly.

Belle frowned. “Why ever not?” she questioned, confused.

“Because Snow White and her Prince have decided to 'take back' the kingdom,” Rumplestiltskin explained. “George and Regina are quite against the idea, as you can well imagine.”

Belle steeled herself. “War,” she said.

“War,” Rumplestiltskin agreed unhappily. “And they'll do it the bloody way, without asking _me_ for any real aid, because if I interfered, then it might taint their rule. They've no such constraints asking for aid from the jellyfish though. In happier news, Prince Thomas finally caught up with Cinderella and her glass footwear. They'll probably be wed as soon as the war is over.”

“That took longer than expected,” Belle stated with frank recognition.

“To be fair to the young fool, he did start his looking at very much the wrong end of his father's kingdom,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out with an amused smile.


	4. Chapter 4

“How do you feel about public executions dearie?” Rumplestiltskin asked over his shoulder as he read a missive that had been delivered by a pigeon – a creature he quickly shooed away from his straw.

Belle was sweeping cobwebs off the ceiling as best she could, perched atop a ladder and with a broom clutched tightly (and a little awkwardly) in one hand. “Is it yours?” she questioned neutrally.

“No, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin answered, amused.

“Is it mine?” she pressed, her voice just as neutral.

Rumplestiltskin snorted in contempt at the idea. “Certainly not,” he replied.

“In that case, why should I feel anything?” Belle queried as she lowered her broom and began to descend her ladder. She needed to move it over a bit so she could reach the next portion of the ceiling.

Rumplestiltskin grinned. “Ah, but it is  _Regina_ who is to be executed,” he declared with a giggle.

Belle's foot missed the last rung of the ladder, and she fell the (thankfully short) distance to the ground with a clatter.

“You really must be more careful dearie,” Rumplestiltskin scolded fondly.

“The Queen is being executed?” Belle repeated as she clambered back to her feet, shocked. “I thought she was going to cast your curse.”

“It wouldn't be the first time I had an accident with someone who I thought would be able to cast the curse,” Rumplestiltskin admitted a little ruefully. “It would just be the first time I got so very close. All things considered though, I still think Regina will be the one to do it.”

Belle thought about that. Thought about what she knew of all the people who would be factors in this.

“Snow White,” she realised aloud. “She won't be able to go through with it.”

“Probably not,” Rumplestiltskin agreed amicably. “But now the question is: would you like to come with me to watch?” he offered. “Snow is going to need a solution to the threat of Regina, and I'll wager that I'll be their best option by sundown.”

“No bet,” Belle quipped back at once, a smile dancing about her lips. “If you're really inviting me to join you in watching Regina escape death though...”

“I am,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed.

Belle smiled brightly, and set aside her broom. “I'd be delighted to go on your arm,” she agreed.

Rumplestiltskin giggled in glee and clicked his claws together in that delighted, twittering manner he had.

“Go get changed,” he instructed. “It's a royal execution dearie, we must look our best. Not too fine though,” he cautioned. “Wouldn't want to draw attention before time.”

Belle curtseyed in deference, and hurried off to put her broom away and trade her slightly grimy tunic and breeches for a clean dress.

She returned to find Rumplestiltskin wearing his crocodile leathers, the ones that were completely laced in place and that she  _knew_ he used magic to get into and out of. The garment was far too complicated for him to have changed into it in the given time otherwise. He also wore a large brown cloak that would be enough to hide his face and form among a crowd. He had one for her too, a much plainer thing than the cloak he'd made for her from his spinning. Without hesitation, Belle wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled the hood up to hide her hair and shadow her face.

“Good girl,” he approved softly, then he wrapped an arm around Belle's waist and they were transported to the castle of Snow White and Charming in a whisper of purple mist.

They watched from the middle of the crowd as Regina was led to a slightly raised stake in the centre of the courtyard and tied there. A little stage, all for her.

A bright green cricket in a dark blue coat and hat, an individual that Belle had only heard tell of until that moment, flew up to Regina.

“Regina,” the cricket said. “This is your opportunity to meet your end with a clear conscience. Do you have any last words?”

“Yes,” Regina answered, and her tone was subdued – and almost surprised at herself for having such an answer for the cricket. “Yes, I do. I know I'm being judged for my past,” she admitted freely to the crowd.

“Hardly likely to be judged for her future, since no one else but you has any idea of it,” Belle quipped lowly to Rumplestiltskin.

He grinned widely at that, as wide as he could, for giggling would not be appropriate, and therefore grinning was as far as he could allow himself at that moment.

“ A past where I’ve caused pain,” Regina continued. “A past where I’ve inflicted misery, a past where I’ve -” she paused, briefly. “- even brought death.”

Rumplestiltskin nudged Belle and, with a directing nod of his head, drew her attention to Prince Henry, Regina's father. The man looked so lost and desperate and hopeful that his daughter was going to repent of her actions before she was forced to face the consequences of them.

Belle responded to this by wrapping both of her arms around the nearest of Rumplestiltskin's, and she leant her head on his shoulder.

They turned their attention back to Regina, focused on her once more.

“When I look back at everything I’ve done, I want you all to know what I feel.” The word shuddered past the woman's lips. “And that is,” she choked for a moment before she heaved out the word “regret.”

It was almost a moving little speech. It was quite ruined by her decision to continue talking.

“Regret that I did not cause more pain, inflict more misery, and bring about more death,” Regina declared. “Above all else, with every ounce of my being, I regret that I was not able to kill Snow White!”

“Arrows!” Charming ordered sharply, reacting to the threat of a woman who was tied to a stake.

A blindfold was granted to Regina. Or maybe forced upon her. Either way, she would see only blackness in these next moments.

“Take your aim!” Charming instructed.

But at the same moment he ordered the archers to fire, Snow cried out “Stop!” - and the Blue Fairy obliged the girl. The arrows, which had been fired, were halted in the air only inches away from Regina, and then they fell to the ground. The witch's execution had been staid.

“Snow?” Charming questioned, confused.

“This is not the way,” she answered firmly, and stepped down from the throne where she had been sitting – where she had been watching.

The crowd parted to let her pass, even Rumplestiltskin stepped aside for her.

“Take her back to her cell,” Charming ordered the castle guards.

One removed Regina's blindfold – which revealed quite the confused expression on her face – and set it on the stake before he untied her. Everybody present watched as she was led away. Her confusion hadn't lasted long, and a smug, wicked smile took over her lips, spreading wide across her features. Once Regina was out of sight they began to disperse. Rumplestiltskin remained, however, and so Belle remained also.

He plucked the blindfold from the stake, then stepped up to take his ease on the throne that Snow White had occupied not so long before.

“Dearie, you'll be needing this before long,” he said, and produced with a small flourish and a gasp of purple cloud the book that Belle had made for the use of recording his deals. Well, the new ones, anyway. The old deals were scribed on parchment and affixed in amongst the other deals of the past as according to the dates he gave her.

Belle accepted the book and tucked it into her chest, arms tightly around it as she stood beside the throne he had chosen. She did not take the other. That would imply she was his equal, rather than his servant.

The hour grew late. Rumplestiltskin hid them with his magic as castle servants set lit torches about the courtyard. He summoned a loaf of bread for their supper as well, as they had not eaten since lunch. The execution had quite interrupted their usual tea time.

They'd not long finished their meagre meal when a figure all dressed in white entered the courtyard, cloaked in a melancholy air as surely as she was cloaked in fur.

“My my,” Rumplestiltskin said. “Aren't we troubled, dearie,” he quipped. He was straight-backed in the throne, and his cloak was discarded for now.

Belle was still wearing hers though.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Snow White said in recognition when she had turned and seen him there. Seen them. “And?”

“My keeper, I suppose,” Rumplestiltskin introduced. “I made a deal to protect her home from ogres, oh, years ago now. In exchange, she tends to my needs and records my dealings. Surely you remember her from your visit to my castle?”

Snow White blinked, cocked her head to one side, clearly was thinking very hard.

Belle lowered her hood.

“Oh, yes,” Snow recalled, now that she could see her face. “Belle, isn't it?”

“Formerly the princess of Avonlea and the Marshlands,” Belle said as she bowed her head in slight deference to the woman. She was royal-born herself, there was no need for deference at all, but she was also a servant, which separated their social standings. That she was servant to the Dark One meant she didn't need to bow before Snow White at least.

“What brings you here?” Snow White demanded flatly, her gaze returned sharply to Rumplestiltskin.

“You have to ask?” Rumplestiltskin countered lightly, and pushed himself up from his seat upon her throne. “We came to witness the Queen's execution. I even had my heart set on a wee souvenir,” he explained, and held the blindfold aloft for examination. “It's all very disappointing,” he assured her with mock-solemnity.

“I won't apologise for sparing her life,” Snow avowed, completely missing his humour. “Not when there's a chance she might change.”

Rumplestiltskin giggled. “Regina redeemed?” he tittered, and rolled the Rs theatrically. “What a novel thought,” he quipped. “And ah, how do you plan to accomplish such an impressive feat?” he questioned, the smile on his face one that invited confidences.

“I don't even know if it's possible,” Snow White admitted with a defeated-sounding sigh. “I'm probably just fooling myself.”

“Maybe you need someone to show you if it is possible,” Rumplestiltskin offered, his voice high and suggestive, eager for a deal.

“What do you mean?” Snow White questioned at once, desperate – though not visibly so – for an answer.

“Simple,” Rumplestiltskin said softly, and his timbre changed, the high register abandoned for the low. “I provide you with a test to see whether the Queen can 'twooly' change.”

“Why would I trust you when I know you want the Queen dead?” Snow asked lowly. “You never make a deal without a price.”

“You know that, do you?” Rumplestiltskin countered lightly, and waved Belle over. “Belle dear, have I ever made a deal without a price before?”

“Yes,” Belle answered at once, and opened the book she held. “The most recent was with Snow White. A bow and arrow, as well as the location best suited for firing upon Regina as she travelled. No payment was requested, taken, or received.”

“Do you remember what I said then, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin asked Snow lowly. “The reason I didn't charge?”

“You said... you were invested in my future,” Snow White answered slowly.

“That's right,” Rumplestiltskin affirmed.

“But don't you want Regina dead?” Snow asked, confused. “You gave me a way to kill her for no charge. You came to watch her execution.”

“My thoughts and reasons are my own, and shall remain so,” Rumplestiltskin informed her playfully. “What is yours now, is opportunity. I can help you. Do we have a deal?” he pressed with a smile.

Snow White closed her eyes to steel herself. “We have a deal,” she agreed.

Rumplestiltskin giggled happily and plucked a long black hair from the blindfold in his hand. A flourish, and it was transformed.

“A dagger?” Snow White asked, concerned.

“A protection spell,” Rumplestiltskin corrected. “If Regina stabs you with this dagger, you will be protected. She will be unable to ever again harm you, or your prince, in this land. I don't recommend just handing it over to her though. Not with the way she was talking this afternoon.”  
“You always say that magic comes with a price,” Snow White insisted.

“In this case, dearie, the price for the answer you seek will be the knowing of it,” Rumplestiltskin explained gravely. “That is a price that will come whether I charge it to you or not. Yes, all magic comes with a price. Often I can pick the price, but sometimes it is dictated by the magic itself.”

Snow White nodded in acceptance, and cautiously she took the dagger from him.

Rumplestiltskin produced a quill with an absent flourish of his hand as he watched Snow White return to the castle, and passed it over to Belle. An ink pot appeared in his hand when she took the quill, and he waited for her to enter the latest deal into the book before she dismissed all three items once more.

“Well, it's been an interesting day,” Rumplestiltskin decided softly as he eyed the wisps of grey smoke left behind by Belle's use of magic.

“Do you want me to make us a proper meal when we get home? Or will you just retire?” Belle enquired.

“No meal,” Rumplestiltskin decided. “Tea though, and then yes, I will retire.”

With that, he wrapped an arm about Belle's waist, and the pair disappeared from the courtyard back to the Dark Castle.

~oOo~

“Imagine, after all I did for them, and they don't invite me to the wedding,” Rumplestiltskin complained. It was not an earnest complaint. It was spoken light-heartedly. He had not expected an invitation to the wedding of Snow White and Prince Charming. He probably wouldn't have gone if he had gotten an invitation.

He would have liked one though, even if they were already technically married and in the early days of expecting a child. Even if this was just the big, showy occasion for state. He would have liked an invitation to the wedding of the year.

He'd done more for the pair of them than the blasted Blue Fairy ever had, and the stupid jellyfish still got an invite. Just because she was 'good'. Bah! He knew better. The self-righteous jellyfish had never protected children from being taken from their homes, forced to fight against ogres. He had. She'd never told anybody the full price of the magic she offered them when they called upon her for aid. He always did, or nearly always. He'd only kept back the price five times in three hundred years, and on those occasions he always paid that himself, rather than foisting it off onto some other unfortunate sod – which was what the fairies did.

And the happy couple invited  _her_ to their wedding, and not him.

“They didn't even invite Belle,” he grumbled softly – and this time in earnest – as he left his castle behind for Regina's. “Dear girl like her, Snow's age, royal herself. They should have invited her, at least.”

Prince Henry greeted him at the gate of Regina's castle and led him up to her chambers.

“You have a visitor,” Henry announced to his daughter.

Rumplestiltskin, of course, vanished from where he'd been politely following and settled himself on the couch as Regina asked “Who?”

“You need to ask?” he quipped lightly. “What other friends do you have, dearie?” he questioned, though he knew that Regina got along quite well with Maleficent, and counted her in that category more than she counted him.

Oh, and it was delicious to him to know that True Love was safely hidden within the dark fairy's body, inside a golden egg, and Maleficent didn't even know what it was. The egg didn't bother her at all when she changed back from a dragon into her more human-like appearance. She truly had no idea what Charming had been doing in her castle that day, beyond insulting her and breaking one of her windows.

He'd made sure of that, just as soon as he'd sent the boy on his way.

“You're no friend,” Regina replied darkly. “Have you come to relish my suffering?” she demanded lowly, clearly unimpressed with his intrusion upon her privacy.

“I thought you'd want someone to help raise your spirits,” Rumplestiltskin countered. “Especially on a day like today,” he added as he lightly slapped his thighs and stood.

“What's so special about today?” Regina asked.

“Snow White and Prince Charming's wedding, of course,” Rumplestiltskin answered. “Didn't you get an invitation?” he teased lightly. “Me neither,” he said when she only rolled her eyes at him. “Still, nice to be able to see them declare their Twue Love in front of the entire kingdom,” he chirped. “Happy Ending after all.”

“And because of you there's nothing I can do to stop it!” Regina growled at him. “No way to harm them ever again,” she spat, and stalked away from him to her vanity mirror.

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin allowed thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose that's true. In this land.”

He dangled the bait, and like a creature trained to it – and oh, she most certainly was – Regina rose to take it.

She turned enough to face him once more. “What?” she asked.

“The deal I made was explicit,” Rumplestiltskin explained. “You can never harm them _in this land_ ,” he said with a smile. “Now, were you to bring them to _another_ land...” he scoffed lightly to emphasise the point. “Well,” he dangled with a smile.

A smile of realisation crept up Regina's face.

“Told ya I was your friend,” Rumplestiltskin teased with a silly voice and a false grin, and let the purple smoke of his magic swirl around him and take him back to Belle.

He arrived back in his own hall just as Belle was setting out lunch.

With a smile, Belle set the last of the meal on the table and stepped up to him, then around and behind him, and gently tugged off his coat.

“I suppose Regina is off to ruin someone's day right about now?” Belle asked with a coy smile.

Rumplestiltskin giggled happily, and that was confirmation enough.

“I sent Snow and Charming a wedding gift,” Belle said as she hung up her master's coat, then moved to take her seat at the table. “Along with an apology for missing their wedding.”

“We didn't get an invitation, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out with just a hint of a sneer.

“That's the point,” Belle explained. “We are returning their slight to us with pleasantry. Makes them feel guilty, at least a little. I reminded Snow that I'm just as much a princess as she, though I haven't set foot in my father's kingdom in years.”

“Quite,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. “What did you send them?”

“A skein of purple ribbon that I bought in the town,” Belle answered. “Such a rare dye, to get such a rich purple, and yet the merchant had several lengths of it. The merchants of the town that supply the Dark Castle really do have the most remarkable things in their stalls.”

Rumplestiltskin grinned. “Of course you know, there's one wedding we will be crashing, invitation or no, soon enough,” he pointed out.

“Cinderella and Prince Thomas,” Belle agreed with a serene nod. “And you'll be telling the girl her price. Hmm. I'll see the glass merchant in town the next time I go and pick out something for her and her prince,” she decided. “Something delicate and fragile.”

Rumplestiltskin giggled happily and clicked his claws together in a delighted, twittering sort of motion.

“What will you do with her child?” Belle asked. “You were going to give it to Charming's mother, but she's dead now.”

Rumplestiltskin grimaced, just a little, at that. “No idea,” he admitted. “Prince Thomas took altogether too long to find her. Regina will likely cast the curse before I get the child. My plans are malleable enough to take advantage of certain circumstances though.”

Belle frowned thoughtfully at that.

“The child won't be born until after the Saviour comes,” she realised softly, “and any Saviour worth the title probably won't like the idea of you taking the child.”

“That is a risk,” Rumplestiltskin agreed with a nonchalant shrug. “We'll see how it plays out. It's hard to see, the things that will happen in our Saviour's life. But! That is not our concern for now!” he declared firmly.

Belle nodded in agreement, though she was still thoughtful on the matter.

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin was dressed in golden silk, and under a spell so that only Belle and Cinderella would see him as he truly was, to better fit in with the party guests. Belle pouted that she didn't get to know what everybody else would see, and Rumplestiltskin graciously capitulated (though he wasn't entirely sure of why she was so curious, or indeed why he was obliging her). For just a moment, Belle got to see what Rumplestiltskin looked like without skin of gilded green and with rich, honey-brown hair that fell with only a slight wave to his shoulders, a portion of which was tied in a short tail by a black ribbon.

“You're quite right to have me see you as you truly are,” Belle decided as she took in her master's changed features, and made no comment as to how handsome he was. He was handsome to her with his blackened claws and silvered curls. She had never told him though, and would not tell him now, when his more human appearance was before her – however true those words would still be should they cross her lips.

“I almost do not recognise you, almost, and I would be forever looking askance at you, to be certain of whose arm I am on,” she said instead. “And the whole thing would be given away.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly at that, rather than giggling, and reset the spell so that she saw him as he was, rather than has he had once been. Gilded skin and grey curls replaced the warm glow of human skin and straight brown locks.

“And really dearie, we must match,” Rumplestiltskin insisted lightly, teasingly. “I can hardly have my escort attend a ball in the clothes she cleans my home in. Especially when they'll be announcing me as your escort, rather than the other way around.”

“Well, I haven't any fine dresses,” Belle apologised insincerely. “The merchants in the town carry many wonderful things, but not gowns fit for royal balls. Even if I magicked one up, I dare say my taste isn't extravagant enough.”

“That's alright dearie,” Rumplestiltskin dismissed with a warm smile. “I've got this one.”

A snap of his fingers, and Belle was washed with the purple mist of his magic. It left behind a golden gown that flowed to the floor. It crossed her arms, but did not cover her shoulders, and were it not for her chocolate curls and the amulet she never removed, it would have left her throat altogether quite bare to the eye.

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin decided as he eyed the golden confection – it was largely unadorned and unembellished, save for some tasteful gathers and draping, that it was a _gold_ dress (and upon Belle's lovely frame) was quite enough beyond that. “A dress fit for a princess.”

Belle collected up the wrapped gift for the newly weds, took Rumplestiltskin's offered arm, and with matching smiles on their faces, they left for the wedding ball of Cinderella and her prince.

A footman took the gift from Belle at the entrance to the hall, and once they'd been announced by the herald (“Princess Belle of Avonlea and the Marshlands, and escort,”), the pair slipped in amongst the other guests.

“Should Snow really be wearing a corset that tight?” Belle asked her master softly when she spotted the woman in question, decked out in a purple gown that tightly bound her torso before the skirts expanded voluminously about her lower half.

“This will be the last opportunity she has to get away with it,” Rumplestiltskin answered, his own voice low. “She'll start showing soon, and then it won't be safe for the child if she were to wear such a thing. Will the lady dance?” he asked, and offered her his hand.

Belle smiled, placed her hand in her master's, and let herself be led onto the dance floor.

A short time into the dance, Snow White playfully disrupted the pattern by snatching Ella to be  _her_ partner.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle arranged for their steps to take them near the two women, to hear some of what was said between them.

“All I did was get married,” Ella said.

“All you did,” Snow White countered, “was show that anyone can change her life. I'm proud of you,” Snow White said in parting. Yes, parting.

The pattern of the dance dictated that the partners drift apart then, and obedient to the steps, they did – and Ella danced herself towards Rumplestiltskin without even realising.

Belle had merely danced around, so that she could wait behind him to be re-taken as his dance partner once more, when he was finished speaking with the new princess.

“I'm proud of you too,” Rumplestiltskin quipped as Ella came to stand before him.

“You,” she said, a horrified light in her eyes, and it was clear she remembered him, even after all this time. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I just wanted to be sure you were happy with your end of the bargain,” Rumplestiltskin deferred as he drew her into the dance once more. “It took so long in coming, but now here you are. True Love, riches, Happy Endings,” he listed off with a smile. “Did you get _everything_ you desired?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered shortly. “Yes I did, now what do you want?” she demanded softly. “What's your price? My jewels? The ring?”

“No no dear, keep your baubles,” Rumplestiltskin purred. “What I want is something you don't yet possess, but something I know is coming,” he teased, going from hissing the words to nearly singing them. A smile on his face the whole time, his last words to her were dark. “Your first born,” he told her, and then spun her away.

Belle stepped into his arms once more, keeping up the dance. Both of them though were aware of the fear on the girl's face as she watched after them.

~oOo~

A bluebird had come to the Dark Castle. A bluebird bearing a message.

“Belle!” Rumplestiltskin roared out. She was in the kitchen, he was in his tower. Oh, she had the amulet and he could communicate with her that way, but every now and then he liked to roar.

“Yes, Sire?” her voice answered him through the magic he had crafted for her use.

“Belle, pack your things. We are leaving the Dark Castle,” Rumplestiltskin said.

“Leaving? What?” she yelped.

“I need to be more accessible to Snow White, and her dwarf friends have built a conveniently situated dungeon for my use,” he explained vaguely as he collected up just a very few items and tucked them away on his person. “You're likely going to have to negotiate a bit with the couple to be able to continue fulfilling your duties to me when I'm in the cage they have made for me.”

Belle's reply was not instant. In fact, it was so delayed that Rumplestiltskin paused in his own tidying of his work room.

“Belle?” he questioned.

“Yes, Sire,” she answered. “Will you take your evening meal before you go?”

“I will, yes,” he replied. “And you will take the carriage. You'll need to leave the castle when I do, moments before, for preference. I'll need to raise the wards before I leave. We should arrive at Snow's castle about the same time, that way.”

“Yes, Sire,” Belle agreed.

Rumplestiltskin took one more thing from his shelves before he went down for his meal. At the table, he slid it across the wood to Belle.

“What's that?” she asked.

“Squid ink,” he told her. “I've some hidden in my flask in my sleeve cuff already. You will pack this bottle of ink in with your other writing things, and you will use it only when I instruct,” he ordered her firmly, though kindly still.

Belle took the little bottle of blackness.

“Belle,” he called softly.

She looked up at him.

“It will work out,” he promised with a small smile. “I won't be in there long. Snow White is less than a month away from giving birth, and Regina will cast the curse that will take us all from this land. I will be taken from that cell as surely as everybody else will be taken from this land, and with you there to care for me, it isn't like I'll suffer too much,” he quipped fondly.

Belle took a deep, steeling breath, and nodded her acquiescence.

Rumplestiltskin helped Belle load her trunk of belongings – as economically packed as the day he had taken her from her father's castle – onto the back of the carriage. He let her smooth his vest and jacket, and himself checked that her amulet was still in place and that the clasp of her cloak (the one woven from his spinning) was securely fastened. For one desperate moment she just stared up at him, then launched herself at him, wrapped her arms around him, and held him tightly.

Rumplestiltskin raised his own arms up as well as he could – Belle had trapped his arms to his sides somewhat with her hold – and patted her back gently.

“We will see each other soon enough,” he promised her. “Darkness knows we've been separated longer when I've had other deals to make. You'll see me again in mere hours.”

Belle nodded, eased her hold on him, and stepped back.

Rumplestiltskin handed her up into the carriage, and watched as it rolled out the gate. As soon as it was beyond the borders of his estate, Rumplestiltskin raised the wards he had long been setting in place over his castle, in readiness for this moment, and vanished away to his meeting with Ella.

~oOo~

She was waiting for him, and she was radiating nerves.

“Well well well,” he called, glad enough to play on those nerves. “You're starting to show.”

He waited for her to leave behind the arboured walkway where she had been alternately pacing and pausing to rub her growing belly.

“A little bird told me you wanted to speak,” he said, a clear invitation to her to do so.

“Yes,” she said as she pushed back the hood of her cloak and continued to step, ever-so-cautiously, towards him. “I'd like to alter the bargain.”

He knew that, he'd known that from the moment he told her what her price was. “That's not what I do,” he told her.

“I think you'll want to,” she countered. “I'm having twins.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “Ooh,” he cooed with a theatrical little shiver, and closed the distance between them, his gaze focused completely on her belly. “Let's have a look,” he said, and set a hand on either side of the princess's baby bump.

It was not twins. It was only one child. Still, he played along.

“And you would, what? Give up both?” he queried.

Wordlessly, the blonde nodded in confirmation.

Rumplestiltskin withdrew his hands from her stomach and brought them up before himself in a contemplative steeple.

“Why is that, I wonder?” he questioned.

“My husband, he's... he's having a hard time,” Ella lied, and oh, she lied so badly. “Our kingdom is poor, we're losing money, our crops are dying. We can't support ourselves or our kingdom.”

“And you would trade your other child for...” he sought the right word for this sin that so many had committed before him. Trading the most precious gift in their lives for something so incredibly fleeting. “Comfort?”

“I can always have more children,” Ella said.

The second truth she had spoken that night, the first being that she wished to alter her bargain with him.

“But I can't make crops grow where the soil is dead,” she continued. Her third truth.

There was the soft rustling of parchment as she removed a scroll from within her cloak, and she took two quick steps nearer to him, though she stopped with some distance still between them. The girl was wary of being too near the Dark One.

“In exchange for our other child, you will make our crops once again fertile,” she said quickly. “I think it's more than fair -”  
“Yes,” he snapped at her sharply, barely able to keep the disgust from his face. Oh, bad enough that she lie to him so poorly, but to say _such things_! It made his blood boil with fury within him. “Yes, yes,” he agreed. “It is. If what you're saying is true,” he said, and he saw the worry appear on her face as he bent to read the contract she held up for him.

“It is,” she assured him. “And all you have to do -” she lowered the contract that she held in one hand, and with the other she held aloft a red-dyed feather with a golden tip affixed to it. “- is sign on the dotted line.”

He looked up and wondered at how dim those plotting against him must think he was. Or perhaps simply at how dull they were. He could feel the magic floating about the object Ella was presenting him with as surely as he could feel his shoes on his feet and the brush of his hair against the collar of his coat.

“What a _loverly_ quill,” he complimented as he took it from her hand. He repressed a shudder at the feeling of the Blue Fairy's touch about this thing. “Where ever did you get it?”

“It's from our castle,” Ella answered, clearly uncomfortable. Another lie.

This had come from the sanctimonious jellyfish's hoard of treasures – and she was more jealous of her little hoard than he was of his large treasure trove. She would only part with such a thing if she thought there was truly a chance for his _permanent_ securement. The bug must have great faith in the cell that had been created for him by the dwarves.

“You know, the only way to stop me is through magic,” he told her solemnly as he stepped closer to her.

“I'm not trying to stop you,” she denied.

“Course you're not,” he agreed, his voice low and sarcastic. “Because as we all know, all magic comes with a price,” he reminded her cheerfully. “And if you were to use it to, say, imprison me,” he suggested. Oh, and he knew that was what she was trying to do. Whoever came up with the idea, she was the one who was following through – she would be the one to suffer most directly for this attempt. “Your debt to me would only grow,” he warned, “and we wouldn't want that now, would we?” he asked, his voice a low, dark rumbling as he tipped her chin up with the feathered tip of the quill in his hand.

She flinched away. “Just sign the contract please,” she requested, her voice a whisper so as not to give away the trembling in it.

“You sure you're happy with this new arrangement?” he checked. He had, after all, just given her a fair warning of what was to come. The magic she used against him would cost her. She would owe him a greater debt for this act against him. This was her last chance to back out.

She hefted the contract once more. Her decision made.

“Then so it shall be,” he agreed as he took the contract from her. He penned his name across the bottom. He held tight to the quill even when he dropped the parchment as his body was enveloped in a magic not his own that tried to hold him fast, tried to take his magic away. It wouldn't last long, however permanent they might think it was. He was too powerful, even for this. The Blue Fairy and her magic might have been older than him, but oh, he had more power than she did – he _worked_ at it. The wretched jellyfish hadn't been at the top of the magical food-chain since shortly after Rumplestiltskin had taken the Seer's powers from her. Of course, he'd been ever-so-careful to make sure she never learned that particular truth, even as he was always sure to never be content to languish in the surety of his power.

“Thomas!” Ella yelled out desperately.

“No one breaks deals with me, dearie,” he reminded her firmly as Thomas and Charming rode in with a horse-drawn cage. “No one. No matter where you are, no matter what land you find yourself in, I assure you; I will have my price,” he promised her, more to frighten her than for any other reason.

Charming took one of his arms, the dwarf Grumpy the other, and they marched him across the grass to the cage that would transport him to a cell. He offered no resistance.

They probably should have found that more suspicious, but these were people of action, not of thought.

He noted absently that Prince Thomas guided his silly little wife to the stone bench to sit barely seconds after having declared the name of their child. Alexandra. He'd remember that. Then the prince ran off to fetch water for his bride.

Ooh, and he felt the magic wash through, seeking payment for the debt owed over this matter. It had ticked at the child in her belly, but it was claimed by him already. He felt it take the prince instead.

“Thomas, it's okay!” she called out. “It's passed!”

But her prince gave no answer, and she rose to investigate.

Rumplestiltskin was not surprised when Ella charged up to his cage with her husband's sash in her hand and no prince at her side.

“What have you done to him?” she demanded.

“Ella, what's wrong?” Charming asked.

“You're highness, what happened?” the dwarf added.

Oh, her distress was clear. So very clear indeed.

“What have you done to my Thomas?” she railed at him.

“I haven't done anything,” he answered. “In case you haven't noticed, I've been otherwise engaged,” he said as he looked away from her to the bars about him.

“Something happened to him,” she said. “You know. Tell me!”

“I've no idea, dearie,” he purred. “But I did warn you; all magic comes at a price. It looks like someone. Just. Paid.”

Charming drew Ella away from the bars of the cage.

“Don't listen to him,” Charming instructed softly. “We'll find Thomas,” he promised.

“No you won't,” Rumplestiltskin corrected. “Until that debt is paid, until that baby is mine, you’re never going to see him again,” he informed them all. “In this world or the next, _Princess_ Ella, I will have that baby,” he called out to her in promise as she was led away from him.

Nice to know they still feared him so much, even when there were iron bars between them. Even when they thought him stripped of his powers by the quill they had forgotten he still held. They had that much sense, at least – to still fear him.


	5. Chapter 5

Belle did reach the gates of Snow White's castle at the same time as Rumplestiltskin did, caged and guarded by Charming, Grumpy, and a number of other, regular guards.

“Belle?” Grumpy called through the evening shade. “What are you doing here?”

“My master sent me ahead of him, so that I could continue in my duties to him in his new residence,” Belle answered, her words carefully chosen as her eyes flickered over Rumplestiltskin where he sat in the barred cart.

“Who are you?” Charming demanded sharply, and drew his sword to guard against her.

“She is Princess Belle of Avonlea and the Marshlands,” Rumplestiltskin declared with a solemn weariness. “Do put away your sword, dearie. There's no need of it, and it would do you no good anyway.”

“Why?” Snow White asked as she stepped into the light of the torches that the guards were carrying.

“Why what, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin countered. “That's a very broad question. Why did I send my girl ahead?”

“I am the Dark One's keeper,” Belle supplied easily, unconcerned by Charming's threat – he had not put his sword back in its sheath, and it was pointed at her heart. She wore her amulet though. He could strike her with all his might. She would not be harmed. “I cook his meals, I scribe his words, I wash his feet. I will do so wherever he is.”

“She'll not let me out of your cage,” Rumplestiltskin promised dismissively. “The cage made for me by the dwarves, deep in their mines. Oh yes, I know. I knew your little plot from the moment I received a message delivered by a bluebird. Before then, even. It is no myth that I am able to see into the many tangled threads of the future.”

Snow White frowned. “Then... why did you...?” she hesitated.

“Because I have answers that you will need,” Rumplestiltskin told the pregnant queen, his face pressed up to a gap between the bars. “And you can hardly travel to my castle in your current condition.”

“You could have gone free,” Charming said to Belle, incredulous. “He is trapped. You are safe from him.”

“I swore my life, my whole life, to his servitude in exchange for the eternal safety of Avonlea and the Marshlands from the threat of ogres,” Belle answered him firmly. “I am not so selfish, or foolish, that I will allow _my_ deal with the Dark One to be broken. I cannot risk the safety of so many people.”

All those who had brought Rumplestiltskin in his cage flinched at that. They had just conspired to break a deal made with the Dark One, and the results were already sadder than any of them had expected. Prince Thomas was gone. What terrible price would be reaped by Avonlea and the Marshlands if Belle did not keep her deal? As much as Charming felt the girl could – and should – be free of the Dark One, no one would speak again of her breaking her deal.

The ogres were far too terrible a threat, and Avonlea and the Marshlands were too precious a land for their freedom from the foul beasts.

“There's an extra chamber, carved out near Rumplestiltskin's cell,” Grumpy admitted. “I... it's furnished as comfortably as I could make it.”

“You knew,” Charming accused the dwarf.

Grumpy nodded slightly though it could be missed with the way his shoulders came up by his ears as he shrugged. “I wasn't sure if Belle would come, or take her freedom, but I made preparations just in case,” he admitted.

“Thank you, my friend,” Belle said softly.

“I don't like this,” Charming declared with an unhappy sigh.

“It doesn't matter,” Snow White told him sadly. “It is what it is. If Belle will see to Rumplestiltskin's needs, then we won't have to assign so many guards to the area.”

“You won't need to assign any,” Belle corrected.

“I'll not even try and escape,” Rumplestiltskin promised. “So long as my princess is treated properly. Given the respect she deserves and has her needs properly met.”

“She will,” Grumpy swore.

“She will,” Snow White confirmed softly.

~oOo~

It was all of two days before two figures, concealing robes hanging like thick draperies from their shoulders and with hoods pulled up to shadow their faces, hesitantly entered the mine shaft that had been converted into a dungeon. Belle had just been serving tea to her master – the service was only a plain one, brought to Belle for her use by Grumpy. Nothing like the fine porcelain they'd had in the Dark Castle. It performed its function though – and now they were being interrupted.

“Snow White and Prince Charming,” Rumplestiltskin chirped in greeting. “You insult me,” he quipped. “Step into the light and take off those ridiculous robes,” he advised pleasantly.

Hesitant hands pushed back shadowy hoods as cautious feet edged nearer.

“That's much better,” Rumplestiltskin said with a smile. “Much more friendly, though I am still a little insulted. You didn't invite me to your wedding, after all I did to help you be together. You shut me up in this prison for a deal I made with someone _else_ – and then you don't visit for two whole days,” he tutted at them.

“We've come to ask you about -” Charming started.

“Yes!” Rumplestiltskin snapped, cutting him off. “Yes, I know why you're here! You want to know about the Queen's threat.”

“The one she made at the wedding we weren't invited to,” Belle added softly, though her words were very pointed.

“Tell us what you know!” Snow White demanded, gaze fixed on the Dark One in his cage.

“Ooh, tense, aren't we?” Rumplestiltskin noted lightly. “Fear not!” he proclaimed. “For I can ease your mind, but,” he stepped up to the bars of his cell and wrapped his hands around the bars. “It's going to cost you something in return,” he informed them with a hungry little smile.

“No,” Charming denied. “This is a waste of time,” he insisted to his wife, and tried to guide her away.

“What do you want?” Snow White begged to know, and pushed passed her husband to face Rumplestiltskin.

“Oh...” he pretended to think about it. “The name of your unborn child?” he suggested with a smile.

“Absolutely not!” Charming objected.

“Deal!” Snow White snapped over top of him. “What do you know?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “The Queen has come into possession of a powerful curse,” he said – and oh, he was not going to tell them that he had crafted it, oh so long ago. There was not point, for Regina would be the one to cast it. Oh yes, yes she would. It was far too late now to stop her. He would soon be in the same world as his son. At last.

“And it's coming. Soon you'll all be in a prison, just like me, only worse,” he sneered and tittered through the bars of his cage. “Your prison, all of our prisons, will be time. Time will stop, and we will be trapped. Some place terrible. Some place where everything we hold dear, everything we love will be ripped from us, while we suffer for all eternity. While the Queen celebrates, _victorious at last_ ,” he proclaimed with a disgusted, triumphant, sneering flourish. “No more Happy Endings,” he said lowly, and that with solemnity.

“What can we do?” Snow White asked, and stepped closer.

“We can't do anything,” Rumplestiltskin chirped lightly.

“Who can?” Snow begged, her voice a desperate whisper.

Belle smiled to herself. Rumplestiltskin had been very blatant with that quip of his, emphasising most pointedly the word 'we'. These people really did need to be hit over the head with clues before they lined them up well enough to be able to figure out the answers they were looking for. Her master was truly a very patient man with them.

Rumplestiltskin reached through the bars of his cell, his fingers pointed at the pregnant bulge that peeked out from the robe that was still hung about Snow White's body.

“That little thing growing inside your belly,” he answered her.

Charming drew a dagger and slammed the hilt down on Rumplestiltskin's outstretched hand.

He drew back with a hiss.

“Next time, I cut it off,” Charming warned.

Rumplestiltskin tsked the man. “The infant is our only hope,” he informed the once-shepherd, then turned back to Snow White. “Get the child to safety,” he instructed her. He gripped the bars of his prison and drew himself up them, eyes shut as he searched through the many possible futures to the one that was truly and utterly inevitable. “Get the child to safety and on its... twenty-eighth birthday, the child will return. The child will find you... and the final battle will begin!” he proclaimed, eyes and grin both wide in his face as he gave a delighted laugh.

“We've heard enough. We're leaving,” Charming decided, and urged Snow White away from the cell and away from Rumplestiltskin.

“Woo-hoo! Hey! We made a deal! I want her name!” Rumplestiltskin called after them. “We had a deal, I. Need. Her. Name. I want her name!” he insisted with a roar.

“Her?” Charming asked over his shoulder. “It's a boy.”

“Missy, missy,” Rumplestiltskin crooned. “You know I'm right,” he insisted. “Tell me,” he asked gently. “What's her name?”

Snow White turned, and her expression was pained, but she answered anyway. “Emma,” she told them. “Her name is Emma.”

“Emma,” Rumplestiltskin repeated in quiet triumph as the pair turned and hurried away. “Belle,” he called, once the sound of the heavy oak door had finished reverberating back from where it had slammed shut behind the couple.

“Sire?” she answered, and offered up his teacup.

“Fetch your writing things,” he instructed as he reached past the bars and accepted the cup. “I wish you to write out that deal, that conversation, I just had with Snow White. Bring also a parchment for my use, and the bottle of squid ink that I gave to you.”

Belle curtseyed and turned to fetch the items she would need. She soon returned with her writing table, the book she wrote her master's new deals in, her ink pot, a ream of parchment and the bottle of squid ink. Rumplestiltskin meanwhile was twirling in his fingers the quill that he had used the night that he had been 'captured' by Ella, Thomas and Charming, and his flask was sitting on the floor beside him.

Belle passed the ream of parchment through the bars to her master, and when he had sat down, he at once began to write on it.

Belle also took to her writing. She finished recording the encounter between the monarchs and her master quickly, but he was still writing.

“Emma,” Rumplestiltskin said softly.

“Sire?” Belle inquired.

“That is what you must write in the squid ink. Emma. Our Saviour's name. Only that will you write in the squid ink, and you will write that name over and over until you have used it all,” instructed Rumplestiltskin firmly. “That way, when she comes, when you meet her, when you hear her name, you will remember who you are. Regina isn't overly creative. As the one who is going to cast the curse, she will make new lives for us in this new land, and I am quite sure that she will write the curse so that we will forget who we truly are, forget who we ever were in this land. This... this will ensure that, when the Saviour comes, we will remember.”

Belle nodded her understanding, and opened the bottle of special ink.

_Rumplestiltskin says that **Emma** will save us. **Emma** will be our saviour. **Emma** will be the one to break Regina's curse. **Emma** will come on her twenty-eighth birthday, and the battle between **Emma** and Regina will begin then. Rumplestiltskin has difficulty seeing **Emma** 's path, seeing the life that **Emma** will lead. I know that he cannot see his son's life at all. I wonder if the difficulty he has with seeing **Emma** 's life comes because the two will meet. Long ago, when Rumplestiltskin was new to his powers of foresight, the Seer he took them from said that he would be led to his son by a boy – a boy that would be his undoing. I fear for my master. I know that **Emma** will be able to save us from Regina's curse. I hope that **Emma** will be able to save my master, or will at least be willing to help me do so. **Emma** will break the curse, but we will live those twenty-eight years for her to come. Twenty-eight unchanging years, trapped in time itself. We will be trapped, caged and miserable – and we won't even realise it, which is perhaps the most wretched part of all, if it isn't a mercy that Regina doesn't even realise she will be granting us. Hurry, **Emma**. Hurry and free us from where we will be trapped in time. Rumplestiltskin needs to find his son. **Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma Emma**_ ...

Belle wrote the name over and over and over again, just as her master bid. A few feet away, in his cell, Rumplestiltskin was doing the same thing.

~oOo~

A black mouse, shrouded in thick magic, crept through the tunnels and approached the cell of Rumplestiltskin.

“It's just us, dearie,” he sing-songed. “You can show yourself. Belle won't breathe a word of your visit, will you, my princess?”

“Not a word, Sire,” Belle agreed, and reached for her bookmark. She had been reading to her master, simply to pass the time. He had no spinning wheel to distract himself, but she had brought five thick books, full of adventures.

A small puff of black mist dispersed the mouse, drifted up, and reformed as Regina, all dressed in a very dramatic black. She rolled her neck with a small grunt, and turned to the pair – one on her side of the bars, one beyond them.

“That curse you gave me,” Regina said, and held the little scroll aloft. “It's not working,” she complained, and rolled it away again.

“Oh, so worried!” Rumplestiltskin teased. “So, so worried. Like Snow, and her lovely new husband.”

“What?” Regina demanded lowly.

“They paid me a visit as well,” Rumplestiltskin proclaimed with a smile as he peered out through the bars. “They were very anxious. About you, and the curse.”

Regina marched up to the bars, her face inches away from Rumplestiltskin's.

“What did you tell them?” she demanded in a whisper.

Belle tsked the witch from her place beside the bars.

“Now your highness, Queen Snow paid a price for that information. You can't just have it for free,” she scolded lightly.

Regina scowled, and turned to demand the answers she had really come for from Rumplestiltskin.

“Tell me what I did wrong,” Regina instructed.

“For that, as with everything, there's a price,” Rumplestiltskin countered easily.

“What do you want?” she asked quickly.

“Simple,” Rumplestiltskin said. “In this new land, I want comfort. I want a good life,” he said as he gave a depressed look about his cell, indicating that his present circumstances were not to his taste.

“Fine,” Regina cut in. “You'll have an estate, be rich.”

“I wasn't finished!” Rumplestiltskin scolded. “There's more.”

“There always is with you,” Regina muttered, with just a hint of a smile on her face. There was some respect in her yet for the Dark One, the fearsome creature that had taught her magic.

Rumplestiltskin grinned widely. “In this new land, should I ever come to you for any reason, you must heed my every request,” he requested with a small flourish. “You must do whatever I say, so long as I say 'please'!” he twittered.

“You do realise that, should I succeed, you won't remember any of this,” Regina pointed out.

“Oh well then, what's the harm?” Rumplestiltskin questioned innocently – and it was amazing how well he could portray himself as boyishly innocent when he was over three hundred years old.

“Deal,” Regina agreed, a pleased smile on her painted lips, and they could see the gears ticking over in her mind. She would make Rumplestiltskin into the sort of man who _never_ said 'please', and would never have to do anything for him.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled happily, not bothered in the least by her small-minded plotting, and stepped back from the bars of his cage.

“What must I do?” Regina pressed.

“You need to sacrifice a heart,” Rumplestiltskin explained, and drew a line over his own chest where a heart might be cut out.

“I sacrificed my prize steed,” Regina countered, dissatisfied.

Rumplestiltskin launched himself at her, and through the bars he got a hand around her neck.

“A _horse_?!” he spat, furious. “This is the curse to end all curses. You think a _horse_ is gonna do?! Great power requires great sacrifice,” he reminded her. “The heart you need must come from something far more _precious_.”

“Tell me what will suffice,” Regina requested, as calmly as though he had no hold on her neck at all.

“The heart of the thing you love most,” Rumplestiltskin said, and the words were almost melancholy.

Belle knew that he was thinking of his son, who  _ he _ loved beyond anything and anyone else in all the realms.

This got a reaction from Regina though. She went completely tense and snatched Rumplestiltskin's hand away from her throat.

“What I love most died because of Snow White,” she said.

“Is there no one else you twuely love?” Rumplestiltskin asked in a childish voice, and gently stroked Regina's cheek.

Her breath caught visibly in her chest, and both Rumplestiltskin and Belle noticed. Yes, there was someone. They knew who, too. The one person who had stood at Regina's execution with hope in his eyes as he looked on. Hope that she would repent, recant, and be freed. Her father, Prince Henry.

“This curse isn't gonna be easy,” Rumplestiltskin said with a dark little smile as he moved back slightly, back to within his cell. “Vengeance never is, dearie. You have to ask yourself a simple question: how far are you willing to go?”

Regina leant forward. “As far as it takes,” she answered solemnly.

“Then please stop wasting everyone's time and just do it,” Rumplestiltskin requested. “You know what you love.” He leant forward so that his nose nearly touched hers. “Now go kill it,” he ordered in a harsh whisper.

Regina turned, and paused when she saw Belle still sitting there, face hidden by the hood of her own cloak and the shadows cast by the torches.

“What's your price?” she asked Belle. “For the answer that Snow White sought from your master?”

Belle smiled. “You might remember that when I was not yet fourteen, I swore to serve Rumplestiltskin for as long as I lived. I will continue to do so in this new land, just as I have here,” she dictated. “If my master is to have an estate, he will need someone at his side to assist in its upkeep.”

“Good help is so hard to find,” Rumplestiltskin quipped, and a warm smile blossomed gently on his features that he directed her way. “I am most fortunate to have found my little princess all those years ago.”

Regina gave an unconcerned wave. “I have no particular intention of breaking any of Rumple's contracts in the land we're all going to. I don't care to face the consequences of interfering with that much magic, and they make so many people so delightfully miserable. As much as you don't seem too unhappy about your situation, it would be much too much of a bother to write in an exception, especially for your deal, just to try and find a way to make your lot worse. Besides, your current arrangement will upset your remaining family at least.”

Belle's pleasant smile turned predatory.

“And you will make the Blue Fairy a _whore_ ,” she requested darkly.

Regina and Rumplestiltskin both burst out laughing, their howls of joy echoing through the prison.

“Oh, _deal_ ,” Regina agreed with dark delight. “Now, what were they told?”

“The truth,” Belle chirped happily, a mad gleam in her eyes that would look not out of place on her master's face. “That nothing can stop the Darkness! Except, of course, their unborn child. You see, no matter how powerful, all curses can be broken,” she explained, though her tone was dismissive and airy, parroting the words that Regina had once given her in 'friendly advice'. “Their child is the key. Of course, the curse has to be enacted first,” she reminded the darkly-clothed witch.

Regina took in a deep breath. “And it will be,” she promised solemnly, then disappeared from the prison.

“You did that very well,” Rumplestiltskin praised Belle with a smile, and reached through the bars to tenderly caress her cheek with his hand. “I'm impressed.”

Belle leant into her master's touch and smiled back, delighted in his praise.

~oOo~

He felt it. There was so much to feel that it was almost amazing to him that he could distinguish all the separate events. The vessel that would carry the Saviour to safety was completed. The child that was destined to save them all was born. Regina cast the curse.

He wrapped his hands around the bars of his cage.

“I'm waiting!” he called out.

“Tea,” Belle supplied instantly, and offered him a cup of the hot beverage.

“Thank you Belle,” Rumplestiltskin answered, and sipped as he watched a black mist coalesce into Regina in the space beyond his cell. “What took you so long, dearie?” he called over.

“You know what took so long,” Regina answered him, a satisfied air about her.

“Oh yes, the curse. You did it,” he quipped, and gently swirled the tea in his cup.

“That's right,” Regina said, her voice soft with profound satisfaction. “I did it. And I wanted you to know it, before you, like all the pathetic denizens of this wretched land, forgets everything.”

“How did it feel?” he asked, and leant up towards her with a smile before he took a sip of his tea.

“Watching the curse cloud form?” Regina clarified, completely smug. “It felt like victory.”

Rumplestiltskin giggled. “No, I meant: how did it feel to kill the thing you love most?” he questioned, and even toasted her with his teacup. “Ripping the heart out of your father. How did that feel?” he pressed eagerly – sneeringly.

“It was the price of the curse,” Regina said defensively. “How it felt doesn't matter. He would have understood.”

Rumplestiltskin raised a silently questioning eyebrow at her, and stepped past her towards Belle, draining his cup as he moved.

She filled it for him again, blatantly giving Regina absolutely no attention at all as she did so.

“I took my life back,” Regina claimed earnestly. “I had to. I won.”

“And yet here you are,” Rumplestiltskin observed.

“Feeling the need to gloat,” Belle commiserated softy, falsely.

“Something's missing, isn't it, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin questioned with a knowing smirk that he only half-concealed behind the rim of his cup.

“Not at all,” Regina protested with a grimace. “I have everything I want. Nothing can stop me now,” she insisted, assured of her victory.

Rumplestiltskin giggled at that. “Not quite,” he corrected.

“What does that mean?” Regina demanded lowly.

“The Saviour,” Rumplestiltskin reminded her. “The child of Snow White and Prince Charming.”

Belle smiled. Rumplestiltskin always said Charming's name in such a mocking manner, and considering exactly how the man had been given that nickname by his wife, the mockery certainly fit.

“We did tell you about that before,” Belle reminded Regina, and herself toasted the woman with her teacup before she took a sip.

“She can stop you,” Rumplestiltskin said. “She can break the curse.”

“Well, it looks like getting rid of a baby just made my to-do list,” Regina decided with a callous, careless smile.

“Of course it did,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. “But. Even if you succeed with that, you have an even bigger problem. Now there's a hole in your heart, and someday, you will come to me to fill it,” he informed her with a very satisfied smirk.

“You over-estimate your powers of foresight,” Regina declared with obvious disgust and disbelief.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, your majesty,” Belle advised with a smile. “My master means that you will come to him to make a deal, just like so many others have before you, seeking your own happy ending.”

“You under-estimate the price of what you've done,” Rumplestiltskin informed Regina, just a little sternly. “You shall see, you will come to me,” he sing-songed. “There is more you need – oh!”

“Your taunts will get you nowhere!” Regina insisted. “I know you too well. You want to make another deal,” she sneered. “Well I won't.”

“A deal?” Rumplestiltskin tittered. “You've already promised me a good life in this new land, I even get to keep my little keeper. What more could I possibly want from you?” he asked, just a touch condescendingly.

“Oh to be... let out of this cage,” Regina suggested. “To... be let out of our last deal? To escape the curse?”

“But why would I desire that, dearie?” he questioned softly. “I'm exactly where I want to be.”

“Wouldn't be here otherwise,” Belle added in quiet, frank confirmation.

Those two little statements really did throw Regina off, and a light of fear crept into her dark eyes, but rather than seek out more answers from her former teacher (or his assistant) she simply turned and left them there.

“That unbalanced her,” Belle observed, and lifted her teacup to her lips.

“Indeed it did,” Rumplestiltskin agreed.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Belle called softly when she had drained her cup. “I have something that I need to tell you before the curse reaches us.”

Rumplestiltskin twitched in a sharp, birdlike manner, and his gaze darted over her.

“And what might that be, dearie?” he asked, a tiny bit hostile – which Belle knew meant he was preparing himself to hear something that would hurt him to hear.

“I love you,” Belle admitted. “Gold skin, claws, darkness and magic and everything, and I have no idea when it happened, only that it did, and I understand completely if you don't feel anything for me at all. I just thought you should know, before we forget everything. I will gladly take the potion for immortality when you finish it, so that I can serve you until the day after eternity. Not just for the sake of our deal, but because I want to be always at your side.”

Rumplestiltskin stared at her in dumbfounded shock, unable to formulate a reply of any sort.

Then the curse overtook them, and any chance either of them had to say anything more was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

The bell over the door chimed in its companionable way, and Elvira “Elle” French looked up from the bookkeeping she was reviewing to welcome the customer.

“Mayor Mills,” she greeted with a pleasant, if slightly fake, smile. She closed the book and slid it under the counter. The woman would have her full attention. “What brings you to the shop? Are you finally going to take us up on our offer to install a security surveillance system in City Hall?”

“I need to speak with your employer,” Regina Mills answered shortly. “I need his help. I want a baby.”

Elle gave the mayor a quick up-and-down glance, and considered the request in light of what she knew of the woman.

“Sheriff Graham can't give you one?” Elle supposed, just a little hesitantly. “Or are you the one lacking? Because while I'm sure Mr Gold would be flattered, Mayor Mills, it might be prudent to try the hospital -”

“Not like that,” Regina cut her off. “I need his help cutting through red tape. I've spent all morning on the phone to adoption agencies. The waiting lists for adoption are two years long. If anyone can work the system and find me a baby...”

“Mr Gold can,” Elle finished with a knowing nod. “Mayor Mills, have you considered the impact on your life of having a baby?” she questioned. “Midnight feedings, dirty nappies, crying at any and every single minor discomfort that they are ultimately unable to otherwise communicate to you except by crying,” Elle listed off. “Then there's the matter of baby-proofing your home, and office as well, if you're not going to hire a babysitter for while you work.”

“I need a baby,” Regina said firmly.

“Needing a baby and being ready for a baby are two different things,” Elle pointed out. “And then there's the matter of payment.”

“Payment,” Regina repeated flatly.

“Mr Gold does nothing for free, Mayor Mills,” Elle pointed out with an easy, slightly-shark-like smile that was a great deal more sincere than the one she'd plastered on her face upon the mayor's entrance to the shop. “Especially when it's his legal expertise that are being requested.”

Regina just glared.

“He's in his workshop out the back, restoring an antique at the moment,” Elle said with a stifled sigh. “I'll see if he's at a stage that it can be left, and you can discuss the matter with him. Please wait here, and feel free to browse. I know we have some things that a baby would like in here, that lovely unicorn mobile, for example,” she offered with a gesture to the delicate piece that was hung above one of the display cabinets.

Regina drifted over to the mobile, an unreadable expression on her face, and Elle slipped out to the back of the shop.

Upon sighting her employer, Elle waited until the small pick in his hands was well away from the antique before she made a noise to gain his attention. She would not risk being the cause of any damage done to a piece. He was presently carefully chipping built up rust off the lock on a writing desk that would be beautiful when he was done. Elle didn't want to see it damaged any more than she wanted to upset her employer by distracting him into causing that damage. Mr Darcy Gold (she was very privileged to know his given name, nearly no one else in the town knew it, or used it if they did) wasn't as terrible as the rest of the town thought he was, generally speaking, but he did have his moments. He wasn't a very nice man when he was angry, and damaging an antique because of someone else breaking his concentration was something that could make him angry.

“What is it, Miss French?” Mr Gold asked, and set the instrument in his hands aside.

“Mayor Mills has come in, searching for your legal aid,” she answered. “She wants help cutting through red tape so that she can skip the two-year waiting list and adopt a baby.”

“That... is certainly interesting,” Mr Gold murmured, and stood from his work bench. He removed his apron and gloves, collected his cane, then moved to precede Elle into the main room of his shop, where Regina was still staring thoughtfully at the unicorn mobile. “You wish to adopt?” he questioned her at once.

“Well don't look so surprised,” she requested dourly upon turning to face him.

“Oh, I'm not,” he countered with just a hint of an amused smile on his lips, though it certainly didn't reach his eyes. “I'm sure you'll make a... well, a mother of some sort.”

“Will you help me?” Regina demanded.

“Do you appreciate that, in becoming a parent, you are committing to putting your child first?” he questioned. “No matter what?”

Regina nodded.

“Then I'll find you a child,” Mr Gold agreed. “Though whether or not that is _helping_ you, well, that remains to be seen. You can expect a bill for my services in the mail within a week of the adoption going through.”

“Thank you,” Regina said with a smile that was almost sincerely grateful, then turned and left the shop.

“Well, that was an interesting interlude,” Mr Gold decided thoughtfully.

“Regina Mills, a mother,” Elle quipped. “That's something that will continue to be an interesting diversion for many years to come,” she projected with a wryly amused cant to her lips.

Mr Gold chuckled softly. “Indeed,” he agreed. “Indeed it will. Back to work, Miss French,” he instructed, and leaning heavily on his cane, he limped back towards the rear of the shop once more.

“Would you like me to bring you a fresh pot of tea, Mr Gold?” she asked before he reached the curtain that hung in place of a door between the front and back of the shop.

“That would be lovely, Miss French, thank you.”

Less than a week had passed since Regina's visit to Mr Gold's pawnshop, but already Elle was placing a call to the Mayor's office.

“Mr Gold has found a child for you, Mayor Mills,” Elle informed the woman on the other end of the line. “An adoption with an agency in Boston fell through this morning, and the infant still needs a home. If you would like to come by the shop and collect the paperwork?” she offered.

“ _I'll be right over,”_ Regina agreed.

“The papers will be here waiting for you,” Elle promised.

  
~oOo~

Elle had just delivered Keith to the ER, again. The number of times she had been sexually harassed by the man was exactly proportional to the number of times she'd delivered him to the hospital – and almost exactly the same number of times she had been the reason he needed the hospital. Mr Gold had been the first one to come to her rescue – he'd slammed the handle of his cane over Keith's head when the man had been harassing her in the line at the chemist. That was how they'd met, which had soon after led to his hiring her.

Mr Gold said that he could not abide 'ungentlemanly behaviour'. Elle had thanked him for his chivalry, and swore to follow his example from that day forth. And she had, in an appropriately ladylike manner of course. Keith wasn't intelligent enough to attempt to file against Elle, and while she certainly was intelligent enough to think of filing sexual harassment charges against him, the quick (and efficient) beatings she gave him in retaliation were actually quite therapeutic, and charging him would mean she wouldn't get to hit the man any more, and her classes at the tiny Storybrooke gym just weren't the same.

It wasn't like she had to pay the man's medical bills either. Heck, she could just as easily leave him on the ground wherever she knocked him out, but that was just so untidy.

She was just leaving Storybrooke General Hospital when she was confronted with the sight of a very frazzled-looking Mayor Mills, with a baby-carrier in one hand – from which loud wailing was issuing.

“Having trouble, Mayor Mills?” Elle asked sympathetically.

“He won't stop crying,” Regina answered. “I don't know what's wrong with him. I'm hoping Dr Whale can tell me.”

Elle smiled a little smile at that. “May I?” she requested, her head tilted to the infant, clearly asking permission to pick him up and look him over.

“What do you know about children?” Regina questioned dismissively, even as she raised the carrier to Elle in silent indication that she was welcome to try.

“Mostly just what I've read in books,” Elle admitted freely as she gently lifted the child from the carrier. “The obvious questions are things like, when did he last feed or have his nappy changed,” she started as she cradled the infant against her chest.

The little one quieted.

“How did you do that?” Regina demanded, shocked as she stared at the baby in Elle's arms.

“I held him to my heart,” Elle answered with a gentle chuckle. “Babies hear all the sounds of their mother's bodies from the inside throughout the pregnancy. They like being able to hear our hearts beating when we hold them. What's his name?”

“Henry. You read that in a book?” Regina asked, a little sceptical, but also hopeful.

Elle nodded. “Here, put the carrier down, and show me how you've been holding him,” she requested.

Regina obediently set the carrier on the pavement and reached for the boy she'd adopted. Her hands went around his middle, under his arms, and his back and feet were cradled by her forearms – and he promptly started crying.

“Now try holding him against your heart,” Elle advised, amused.

Regina rearranged her arms around her child, so that his cheek was against her chest – and he quieted. Oh, he still snuffled and wasn't entirely happy, but he wasn't crying any more either, and that was the important thing. Regina looked up at Elle in wonder.

“Tenderness,” Elle explained. “You were holding him at a distance, away from yourself. Babies need to be held close and shown love in a very tactile fashion. You know you love him, but he doesn't. Not yet. You'll be able to hold him the way you were, and bounce him about, when he's a little older and used to you.”

“And... he threw up in Granny's diner,” Regina said.

Elle shrugged. “Babies spit up,” she said. “It's normal. You wipe it off and you keep going.”

“So he's fine?” Regina checked, a look of complete wonderment on her face. It was the first time the baby had been quiet since she'd got him.

Elle chuckled. “He looks perfectly healthy to me,” she agreed. “Babies can't be kept at a distance though. Maybe get a sling to carry him in,” she suggested. “It doesn't look as professional as your baby carrier, but they're as secure as you tie them, and he'll be able to hear you and feel your warmth.”

Regina looked about to take her turn at crying, now that the baby had finally stopped. “Thank you,” she whispered gratefully.

“Do talk to a paediatrician though,” Elle advised. “Learn about how to recognise ear infections, colic, that sort of thing. Which Dr Whale is not, by the way. He's a doctor for grown people, not children and babies.”

Regina nodded eagerly and, still cradling her son to her chest with one arm, grabbed the now unoccupied baby-carrier and continued on into the hospital.

Elle, for her part, continued on her own way, content that her good deed for the day – the one to balance out having kicked a man in the balls and then the head when he went down from the first blow – was done.

~oOo~

Elle's day began at five. She started with a shower, then while her hair was still heavy with water she braided it tightly, then patted out the extra water. It was the only way to tame her curls with any certainty, and a fair portion of them still rebelliously sprung free over the course of the day. She dressed, and in the kitchen of Mr Gold's house – where she also lived, as she was his housekeeper as well as personal assistant, book-keeper, secretary, shop girl, etcetera – she donned her apron. The house was dusted from ceiling to floor, and then she began to make breakfast.

On Mondays, she fried several rashers of bacon and and a fresh, halved tomato, to mitigate the mild horror of the fact that it was the beginning of a new week. Tuesdays saw to the cooking of pancakes. Sometimes the pancakes had berries in, sometimes they had chocolate chips, and sometimes they were plain but with extra butter and syrup set out on the table. Wednesday was porridge day, and on Thursdays, Mr Gold had three slices of toast with her home-made jam (and sometimes he dolloped her home-made jam onto his porridge on Wednesdays as well).

On Fridays, waffles. Saturdays saw her cooking eggs for him, however he requested them. Sometimes he asked for fried eggs, sometimes boiled, or poached or scrambled or he might begin his Saturday with an omelette. On Sunday, Elle baked bread. Well, she made the dough and set it to rise the last thing on Saturday night, but it was put in a tin and put in the oven on Sunday morning, and always cooked just in time for Mr Gold to have the first fresh, hot, crusty slice.

Elle would make certain that her employer's tie was straight, and then she would either walk with him to town, carrying his briefcase for him, or she would drive him. He was able to drive, but she was also his chauffeur, when the car was needed – and it was generally only needed by Mr Gold when the weather was cold and making his injured leg ache. She took the car on Saturdays anyway though. She did the shopping then, and it was easier to transport groceries in the car when there were more than two bags, and there was always more than two bags.

Every Sunday she went to the gym for her class. Every second Friday she took to the house with mop and scrub-brush (particularly the bathrooms). Once a month, she escorted Mr Gold as he spent the latter part of the day collecting the rent from very nearly every person in Storybrooke.

Granny Lucas was always the last person they visited.

“What's the name?” Granny asked a blonde stranger happily as Elle opened the door for Mr Gold.

“Swan,” the blonde answered. “Emma Swan.”

For Elle, the world suddenly slammed into a much brighter version of itself and a life of memories rushed up out of the furthest recesses of her mind. She didn't have time to examine them just yet though.

“Emma,” Mr Gold said pleasantly, and judging from the way she'd turned so suddenly at his voice, he had caught the blonde by surprise. “What a lovely name,” he complimented.

“Thanks,” Emma replied.

Granny, sensible, practical woman – and one who didn't much care for Mr Gold, but always did her best to not let it show in his presence – pulled a roll of bills out of one of the drawers of the dusty reception desk.

“It's all here,” the old woman promised as she held the roll out to Mr Gold.

“Yes, yes, of course it is dear,” he agreed, and took the money from her outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he added, and passed it over to Elle.

Elle, in her turn, removed the rubber band from around the money and did a quick count. Not to insult, but just to check. She removed a bill from the stack and passed it back to Granny.

“I think two bills must have stuck together when you were sorting out the rent,” she offered with a smile.

Granny twitched a little nervously, but took back the slip of paper money.

“Are there any issues with the property that you wish to report at this time?” Elle questioned as she passed the counted money back to Mr Gold, and pulled a small notepad from her pocket, along with a pen.

He slipped the roll of bills into one of his pockets.

“I was thinking of changing the wallpaper?” Granny admitted/requested, though only half-hopefully, as she clearly expected to be denied.

Mr Gold nodded. “You send me some samples you like,” he instructed lightly. “Pending approval, I'll see about getting the old wallpaper steamed off – and don't worry about the cost. It may be your business, but it's my property. I'll see to it. You just take care of yourself.”

Granny relaxed minutely, and gave a very business-like nod. “Thank you,” she said, and it was almost said gratefully.

“Miss Lucas,” Mr Gold said with a nod to Ruby. “Granny. Miss... Emma,” he said in turn. “You enjoy your stay,” he added to the blonde, and turned to head out the door.

“And be sure to try Granny's burgers while you're here,” Elle added to Emma with a smile. “Best in town,” she praised with a wink to the old woman and a nod to Ruby, then she followed Mr Gold out of the bed and breakfast to his car.

She opened the rear passenger-side door for him, and when he'd slid into the seat she closed it behind him. With quick steps, she rounded the car to take up her place in the driver's seat.

“Belle,” Mr Darcy Gold said, his voice a soft call, hopeful and curious, but also neutral.

“My Lord Rumplestiltskin,” Miss Elvira French answered, and adjusted the mirror so that they could see each other without her having to turn around.

He grinned. “It's begun,” he declared happily.

“I'll find everything there is to find on her by sunset tomorrow,” Belle promised as she put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

“Bless the wonders of this new land,” Rumplestiltskin agreed with a smile. “And that we have had twenty-eight unfelt years to master them. And Belle,” he said.

“Yes Sire?”

“When you're done with that project, we should really discuss that little speech you gave just before the curse transported us,” Rumplestiltskin decided.

Belle maintained her focus on the road, and very deliberately didn't tighten her grip on the steering wheel. She had known this day would come, better than almost anybody, and she'd still said all those things to him.

“Yes Sire,” she assented.

~oOo~

It was lunch time, and in a sleepy little town like Storybrooke, there was little call to work through lunch – unless the work was lunch, as was the case for the diner attached to the B'n'B. Belle, however, had promised Rumplestiltskin that she would have every detail on their Saviour's life by the end of the day. That meant that, on this day, Belle was sitting at her usual table at Granny's spearing her lunch on her fork with one hand, while the other flew across the keys of her laptop with amazing speed for not having the assistance of its companion.

“Ah-ha,” she muttered softly to herself when she discovered the records that listed Emma Swan as the young woman who had birthed the baby that was later adopted by Regina Mills. She was Henry's mother. “So that's what brought Miss Swan here.”

“Is there some reason you're doing a background check on me?” a voice demanded from by Belle's shoulder.

She twisted in her seat and smiled innocently up at the perturbed, and not at all pleased, expression of Miss Swan.

“It's part of my job, Miss Swan,” Belle answered pleasantly. “Please, sit down. I have some questions you can answer better than any search engine.”

“How the hell is sniffing about in sealed files part of your job?” Emma grumbled with a sigh as she stepped around the table and slid into the seat across from Belle.

Belle chuckled. “Mr Gold is sort of a mix of the Godfather and Big Brother in this little town,” she said with a smile. “I am his only employee, and I dutifully do everything he asks of me. You, Miss Swan, are new in town, and therefore an unknown variable to the order of things.”

Emma gave Belle a wary look at that. “I'm not planning on staying more than a week,” she stated.

“Right now you're not,” Belle agreed, “but I'm prepared to put money on you still being here a month from now, and even without knowing why you're here, so is Mr Gold – which means he wants to know about this new person in _his_ town.”

“His town?” Emma repeated.

Belle smiled. “He owns it, bar a couple of houses that have their mortgages completely paid off and a few buildings that are actually owned by the town itself. It's his town,” she confirmed. “Now, if you please, I need you to fill in a couple of gaps for me. Your favourite colour and number are really the only things I can't find out or deduce any other way. America is a wonderfully paranoid country, and if you know how to work the system, which I do, it can be truly _frightening_ the amount of things you can learn with just a computer.”

“Red,” Emma supplied, just a little nervously. “And three.”

Belle smiled. “Thank you, Miss Swan,” she said, typed a quick note of those details in the dossier she was creating on the woman across the table from her, then closed her laptop, brushed the crumbs of her lunch off the fingers of the opposite hand, and stood. “Have a good day. Ruby, can I get Mr Gold's BLT, and the check, please?”

“Coming right up!” the girl agreed with a smile.

A short walk took Belle back to the pawnshop, and she couldn't help the smile on her face as the bell over the door tinkled in announcement of her entrance.

“Lunch,” she announced happily.

“Thank you Miss French,” Rumplestiltskin answered with a smile from where he was standing behind the counter.

“And the old clock has started working,” she offered as she passed over the brown paper bag with her boss's lunch inside.

Rumplestiltskin smiled in satisfaction at the news.

~oOo~

“It's sunset,” Rumplestiltskin noted as he stepped up to stand before Belle. Belle who was sitting in the office of the pawn shop, typing and clicking on her laptop like one possessed. “And you're still working.”

Belle lifted one hand from her keyboard and slid forward a folder on the table.

“The life of Emma Swan, from the moment a little boy found her on the side of the road,” Belle said. “All the way up until now. What I'm currently working on, is researching Henry's father.”

Rumplestiltskin frowned as he accepted the folder. “Why would you do that?” he asked, curious and mildly confused. “I grant that Henry is a sweet child...”

“Emma Swan is his birth mother, that's how she got here, why she came. Henry went and found her,” Belle explained, her eyes still fixed on the screen. “He'll want to know about his father as well at some point, and maybe I've read too many of your books, but I think this is the sort of joke that Fate would like to play on you.”

“What are you getting at?” Rumplestiltskin questioned solemnly.

Belle lifted her eyes from the screen, clicked the button of her mouse, and turned it around.

“Neal Cassidy, Henry's father,” Belle presented. “Forgive the impertinence, but I can't help but think he's got your eyebrows, and your smile in that picture. For that matter, young Henry's got your eyes, and when he is being very cheeky, he's got your smile too,” she pointed out, as gently as she could.

For a moment, a long, drawn-out, painfully silent moment, he just stared at the screen and the picture that Belle had presented him with.

“Henry might be my grandson?” Rumplestiltskin questioned breathlessly as he tore his eyes away to look at Belle. “No, that can't be right. Bae would never abandon his child. Not after what happened between us. I'm sure of it.”

“I don't think he knows about Henry,” Belle countered. “Emma gave birth to Henry while she was in a minimum security, juvenile prison in Phoenix. She was put there thanks to a tip given to the police by Neal Cassidy, and judging by what little I can find of them both during that time, I'm willing to lay bets that Neal found out Emma was connected to the Enchanted Forest, and either got spooked or warned off.”

“By who?” Rumplestiltskin demanded, eyes wide and brow furrowed in angry confusion. “Who would _dare_ interfere with family?” It would seem that it didn't have to be confirmed for him to get defensive.

Belle turned the laptop around again, so that she could keep working. “I did a quick, basic comparison of the major players. Marco, Geppetto; he's here but his son isn't anywhere in Storybrooke.”

“Pinocchio,” Rumplestiltskin growled. “Yes, it would be just the damn jellyfish's style to send a child off into an unknown world for their _safety_ ,” he spat. “And I'll bet the boy was charged with watching out for the Saviour, at the least. Damn that self-righteous, sanctimonious bug.”

“A boy who was later registered as August Wayne Booth found Emma by the highway, but he didn't stick around all that long. I found credit card records that place him in the area at the same time as Emma was arrested though,” Belle offered.

“If he really is Pinocchio, then he'll be coming back to Storybrooke soon,” Rumplestiltskin said, and a dangerously determined air settled about his shoulders. “I'll force my answers out of him then. In the mean time... keep watch over Henry, and the instant he asks Miss Swan about his father, I want you to contact Mr Neal Cassidy and advise him that he has a son. If he comes to Storybrooke, if he knows who I am when he comes, then we'll have our answer.”

“Not going to get a DNA test done with Henry?” Belle asked, a little surprised.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “Given the current standing of things, I'd have to talk to Henry and Regina about getting their permission for Henry to give a sample for the test. Unlike her wretched mother, Regina doesn't know that I even  _have_ a son. I'd like to keep it that way,” he decided. “At least for now.”

Belle nodded in agreement, then her eyes widened and she slapped a hand over her mouth and nose to stifle laughter as a thought struck her.

Rumplestiltskin raised a curious eyebrow. “What are you thinking of dearie?” he enquired slyly.

“Regina is her own son's great-grandmother, Snow White and Charming are grandparents to a boy who is the adopted son of Snow's step-mother, and their daughter is practically the same age as them... and you might be the other grandfather of the boy. Sire, what _will_ the family dinners be like?” she asked, fighting back laughter.

Rumplestiltskin grinned the grin of one who enjoyed dark humour. “Oh, Belle. My clever girl,” he praised, and set Emma's file down. The hand that was not holding him up on his cane took a gentle hold of Belle's chin. “You'll not distract me though,” he informed her. “We are going to have a long over-due talk, you and I. But at home, I think.”

Belle nodded in silent agreement as she forced down the lump that was trying to lodge itself in her throat. She packed up the laptop, collected the file she'd put together on Emma, and slipped the lot into her computer bag. The strap went over her shoulder, and she bowed slightly to her boss, signalling that she was ready to go.

Rumplestiltskin locked up the shop, and surveyed the street. He grinned at what he saw.

“We have a little detour to make first,” Rumplestiltskin announced apologetically, though he was still smirking happily around the words.

Belle followed his gaze, and smiled as well. “I don't mind taking a quick pit-stop to watch you taunt Regina before dinner,” she agreed.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled, offered her his arm, and they headed off towards the mayor's garden. It was the talk of Storybrooke, though all spoken in hushed whispers, that Emma Swan had taken to Mayor Mills' prized apple tree with a chainsaw that afternoon.

“What a mess,” Rumplestiltskin observed as he dropped Belle's arm and stepped through the greenery-covered arbour onto the central lawn with its carefully tended trees – one of which had a very fresh cut.

“Not for long,” Regina countered calmly. “What can I do for you, Mr Gold?” she enquired.

“I was just in the neighbourhood, thought I'd pop by,” he commented easily, and began to circle the tree slowly. “Lovely to see you in such high spirits,” he added with a small, knowing smile.

Regina chuckled and grinned in response. “Well, it's been a good day,” she decided. “I've just rid the town of an unwanted nuisance,” she declared.

“Emma Swan,” he recognised. “Really?” he asked softly, and surveyed the apples thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Regina agreed, pleased. “I imagine she's half-way to Boston by now,” she proclaimed with a small (but very satisfied) grin, and turned to share her triumph with Mr Gold.

“Oh, I wouldn't bet on that,” Rumplestiltskin said with a smile of his own as he plucked one of the apples off her tree.

The expression on Regina's face clearly demanded an explanation.

“I've just seen her strolling down the main street with your boy,” he elaborated. “Thick as thieves, they looked,” he confided fondly as he started to walk past her towards where Belle was waiting.

“What?” The word slipped passed Regina's guard. She was clearly shocked by this news. Shocked, and displeased.

Rumplestiltskin rounded on the woman, though he maintained an almost affable air as he settled his hands – including the one still holding the apple he had picked – on the gold handle of his cane.

“Perhaps you should have come to me,” he advised. “If Miss Swan is a problem you can't fix, I'm only too happy to help. For a price, of course.”

“I'm not in the business of making deals with you any more,” Regina said firmly, and turned away from him and Belle both. Attention once more on her tree.

“To which deal are you referring?” Rumplestiltskin asked as he nonchalantly examined his apple.

Regina spun about sharply. “You know what deal,” she said lowly.

“Oh, right, yes, the boy I procured for you,” Rumplestiltskin agreed lightly. “Henry. Did I ever tell you what a lovely name that was?” he queried. “How ever did you pick it?”

Behind him, Belle was careful to keep her face completely neutral. It wouldn't do for her to start smirking at the mayor, after all. Not in this situation, at least. Elvira French smirked at the mayor as often as she liked, but this wasn't the appropriate time to do so. It would give away that she knew something which, to Regina's knowledge, she shouldn't.

“Did you want her to come to town?” Regina demanded incredulously. “You wanted all this to happen, didn't you? You finding Henry wasn't an accident, was it?” she demanded.

“Whatever do you mean?” Rumplestiltskin asked softly, calmly, with an expression of vague confusion on his face.

Belle couldn't help but admire her master for his acting skills in that moment. Then again, they hadn't remembered Emma back when they'd found Henry for Regina. Fate just... helped out on that matter.

“Where did you get him?” Regina demanded. “Do you know something?”

“I have no idea what you're implying,” Rumplestiltskin denied.

“I think you do,” Regina accused. “Who is this woman, his mother, this _Emma Swan_?”

“I would say,” Rumplestiltskin offered, “that you think you know exactly who she is. Now if you'll excuse me, I've kept Miss French out in the evening air quite long enough, and I need my dinner,” he said firmly, and turned to leave the distressed mayor.

He'd barely gone two steps when she rushed about to stand in front of him and bar his way.

“Tell me what you know about her,” Regina demanded fiercely.

“I'm not going to answer you dear,” Rumplestiltskin said lowly. “So I suggest you excuse me. Please,” he added, and he watched a moment as Regina's expression became slightly more distressed as the magic of their bargain, made back when he was in a cell in a mine in the Enchanted Forest, took effect.

Satisfied, Rumplestiltskin took a bite of the apple he'd picked and walked around Regina and towards Belle.

“Besides, isn't that what you have Sydney Glass for?” Belle quipped lightly to Regina as she absently caught the fruit when Rumplestiltskin tossed it over his shoulder. With one last smile at the woman's distressed expression, Belle turned as well and followed after her master.

~oOo~

Back at the house, Rumplestiltskin settled in to properly read the file on Emma Swan while Belle made their dinner. He set it aside though when she called him to come and eat.

“You said that you loved me,” Rumplestiltskin opened with as he took up his silverware. “Claws and strange skin and everything.”

“I did,” Belle confirmed as she mimicked his motions.

“And now that I look like a normal man?” he questioned.

“I've had twenty-eight years to get used to the way you look, and I _still_ think you are the most handsome person I have ever met, either way,” she answered. “Even when I was Elvira French, I thought you were handsome.”  
“Oh?” Rumplestiltskin pressed, curious.

Belle blushed and pushed her peas about on her plate. “Elvira was thoroughly settled into being hopelessly in love with a man who would never see her as more than his employee,” she admitted as calmly and in as detached a fashion as she could. “I remember Ruby teasing me about it all those times I was invited to a girl's night at the Rabbit Hole too, and Moe French would always grouse when I went to buy flowers for the house from him.”

“Moe French... your father,” Rumplestiltskin realised. “You... Belle, you have a chance here to know your father again. He's not in some distant kingdom...”

Belle shrugged. “He disapproves of my relationship with you,” she countered, “and that when it's just as Mr Gold's employee. Every time I see him it's 'you know you could work  _here_ Elvira',” she said with a dismissive shake of her head. “My memories of my papa were beginning to fade before we were brought here by the curse,” she admitted. “I might, perhaps, reconnect with him when the curse is broken, but not before. At present, I have no wish to know Moe French or interact with him more than I already do.”

“If that's what you want,” Rumplestiltskin said softly. “But, uh... our... relationship,” he said, hesitant but determined to bring the conversation back on track. “Darcy Gold never once believed that the young and beautiful Elvira French could possibly be interested in an old cripple like him, though he did enjoy the illusion of intimacy between them that was fostered by her being in his house every morning; the domesticity,” he admitted, his words soft but rushed. As if speaking the words faster would be the same as ripping off a band-aid – better done quickly so the pain was over-with.

Belle smiled a small, hopeful smile at that.

But Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “Belle, I'm the Dark One, a villain. Villains don't  _get_ happy endings,” he said plaintively.

“Happy endings don't really last all that long anyway,” Belle declaimed, rather than protesting that he wasn't a villain. She didn't for a second believe that he was, but clearly he did, and she knew when to pick her fights with her master. “You can have happiness for a while at least though, can't you? If you'll let yourself,” she half-way begged, and she reached across the table to take his hand in her own.

He sighed, and tenderly squeezed her fingers. “Well, you are not a villain,” he decided, “so you shall get your happy ending. If you say that it is to be with me, then I cannot deny you,” he said with a smile, and yet unshed tears glassed his eyes. “Especially since it's something that I have also wanted. Perhaps since the bloody Sheriff of Nottingham asked for a night with you in exchange for information. Certainly from the moment we play-acted rage and desperation before the mirror for Regina. When you said 'true love' to me with such sincerity, even though I knew it was an act. I wanted it to be real. I wanted then, and I still want, a chance to make a happy ending with you.”

“We have that chance now. I love you, Rumplestiltskin,” Belle said firmly.

“I love you too, Princess Belle of Avonlea and the Marshlands,” he answered, then he lifted her hand that was still wrapped about his, and he gently pressed her knuckles to his cheek, so that he could breathe deeply the scent of her hand lotion. “And that terrifies me,” he confided, and that was as great an admission for him as his love for her had been.

“We had best take things slowly anyway,” Belle offered. “It could still be some time before the curse breaks, and I think it would be best if we gently eased the populace of Storybrooke into the idea. We'll be finally letting them know that truth about you that you've kept secret for so long,” she pointed out.

“And which secret would that be?” Rumplestiltskin asked.

“That there's a man hiding behind the beast,” Belle teased, deliberately using similar phrasing to that time they'd gone out after Robin Hood. “That you're not as dark as you want people to believe, even though you can be so very much darker. That deep down, there is love in your heart for something more than power.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “Aye,” he agreed. “They're not going to take to that sort of information too well,” he said. “And I'd just as soon put off their learning it for as long as possible.”

“I'm not about to go dancing in the street, singing about it at the top of my lungs,” Belle said with a chuckle. “I said I'd take these secrets to my grave if you wanted. I meant it then and I still do. I can make it sound like you're making an exception for me, rather than actually admitting the full truth to them all.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded in grateful acceptance of this, and again squeezed her fingers tenderly in his own.

Belle knew that the idea of being loved frightened him, she would have known without him saying so. She also understood perfectly well that, given his history, that was a very reasonable fear to have. In her turn, Belle knew little to nothing of romance, and what she did know had come from books and second-hand knowledge from Ruby, so she was also cautious of this new progression in their relationship.

Deep within her heart though, she knew that this love that had quietly developed between them, that had snuck up on them and that they had only just properly confessed to one another...  _This was right_ .


	7. Chapter 7

“You're being sneaky,” Belle accused with a smile as she set the tea tray down on the shop counter.

Rumplestiltskin smiled back as he watched her pour their tea.

“Always,” he agreed as he took his cup. “Don't tell me you're surprised?”

“Oh, I'm not,” Belle admitted happily as she raised her own. “I even approve, but it's you, so that's kind of a given.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled.

“Just when our dear Miss Swan is looking for somewhere to live, because Regina has forced her out of Granny's, you decide that it's no longer worth the outlay to mention in the paper which apartments you still have vacant, and the only person she really knows apart from us, Regina, and the Lucases is Mary Margaret Blanchard,” Belle dissected admiringly. “Her mother. You old softy, you,” she teased softly.

Rumplestiltskin raised a single eyebrow at her.

Belle pertly pressed her lips together and drew her hand across in the classic zipper motion, pretended to lock the corner, and tossed the invisible key over her shoulder.

Rumplestiltskin smiled and nodded in approval.

Belle couldn't help but giggle slightly over the secret that she kept for her master. Gently, she blew on the hot brew in her cup, and took a sip.

The peace and quiet of the pawnshop was broken by the gentle strains of the opening title music of the old BBC television series version of  _Pride and Prejudice_ . The generic message-tone on Belle's cellphone.

“You'd better get that,” Rumplestiltskin advised with a smirk and lifted his teacup to his lips.

Belle sighed and set her own cup back on the tea tray.

The text was from one of the hospital staff. One that was getting a small bonus in their pay from Mr Gold for keeping him updated on everything that happened in that building – of course, all information filtered through Miss French, so that Gold wasn't bothered constantly with pedestrian matters. That was part of what he paid her for, and the various informants were more comfortable passing messages to her than to him.

_John Doe awake and stumbling his way out of the building right now._ The glowing little screen read.

“Charming's awake,” Belle reported, and traded her phone for her teacup once more.

“The curse is weakening,” Rumplestiltskin noted with an approving nod. “Of course, when it comes to Snow White and her prince, Regina will have been excessively thorough.”

Belle hummed her agreement, and wrinkled her nose. “It's going to be pure soap-opera around here for a while, I just know it,” she complained lightly.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled that soft, husky chuckle that had become his since the curse had brought them to this land without magic. The high giggle of the Dark One was long gone. It had the same effect on Belle though: a warm fluttering through her that made her want to join in with her master's laughter.

“And what do you know about soap-opera?” Rumplestiltskin asked.

“I know Widow Lucas watches _The Bold and the Beautiful_ on a small television in a corner of her diner, and records it when it's too busy for her to take the time out to watch,” Belle answered with a smile. “I sometimes catch a bit when I'm coming or going.”

“Ah,” Rumplestiltskin said. Then frowned. “Widow Lucas? Really?” he asked.

Belle laughed at his stupefied expression. “Really,” she confirmed.

~oOo~

It was late. Well, it was dark, anyway. Belle had gone on ahead to start dinner while he locked up the shop for the night. He'd enjoy the night air on his walk home, and if he dawdled too much, then Belle would come with the car for him.

Leaving the shop would also give that lurking personage the opportunity they had been waiting for, and then he could find out just what they were after. He certainly had plenty of valuables in his shop, and there were just as many people in Storybrooke who were quietly (and in some cases even unknowingly) desperate to reclaim said valuables.

The question was: whose desperation had driven them to foolishness first?

At the soft sound of breaking glass, Rumplestiltskin about-faced and went back to his shop. His burglar was considerate enough, he supposed, to have only broken one of the little windows in his door, and that nearest to the latch so that they could let themselves in through the door. But who was it?  
He entered silently. There was a trick to opening the door without the bell sounding.

“Ashley,” he registered when his eyes had adjusted to the dim light of his shut-down shop. “What are you doing?” he asked calmly as he began to round the counter.

The girl screwed up her face in determination. “Changing my life,” she declared, and raised a small canister – the contents of which she sprayed into his face.

“Argh!” he exclaimed as the substance, whatever it was, burned his eyes and skin. Reflexively, he raised both of his hands to his face – the action of course caused him to drop his cane, which meant he hadn't any extra support to take any weight off his bad leg (and damn the limp for returning when they came to this land) which in turn caused him more pain. He crashed into the cabinet behind him first, then fell forward.

His head connected with a very fine chess set, as well as the counter it sat on, which caused him to twist on his way down, at which point the back of his head connected solidly with the hardwood floor, and the world went dark.

When the world began to swim slowly back into focus, the first thing that came to him was the feeling of a pillow beneath his head that was warm and firm, but also just the right amount of soft to be perfectly comfortable. There was also a cool cloth on his forehead, delicate fingers tracing through his hair, and the solid wood of the floor beneath the rest of his body. There was a voice, familiar, quietly begging him to wake up.

With a grimace, he forced his eyes open. Belle was hovering over him. Judging from her position relative to his own, Rumplestiltskin quickly realised that the pillow beneath his head was actually her lap.

“Belle,” he said softly, calling her attention to his wakened state.

“Blessed darkness, you're awake!” Belle exclaimed, relieved, though she made no movements to alter their current arrangement. Well, she removed the cloth from his head and replaced it with a fresh one, but nothing else. “What happened?”

“Cinderella's desire to keep her baby has finally bled over into Ashley, I believe,” Rumplestiltskin answered a little hoarsely.

“She went to the hospital on a false alarm last night,” Belle recalled. “And spoke with Emma earlier in the day.”

“That would have sparked it,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed.

“It's too late to call the sheriff's office now,” Belle noted, “and tomorrow is Saturday.”

“Graham will be busy with Regina all day, poor fellow,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. “We can ask Miss Swan, I think. She made her living out of finding people, after all. She can find Ashley for us.”

“I could find Ashley,” Belle pointed out. Then sighed and ran her fingers through her master's soft auburn hair. “But I would much rather make sure you're alright,” she confessed, “and I know that your plans have had to change since you made that deal.”

“It is past time that I properly introduced myself to the Saviour anyway,” Rumplestiltskin decided softly.

Belle sighed. “Do you think you'll be alright to stand?” she asked. “I brought the car, since you were late for dinner.”

“It's not burning in the oven, I hope?” Rumplestiltskin checked.

Belle shook her head. “Oven's off. Dinner's probably cold by now actually, but I can put it in the microwave,” she answered.

“While I have no desire to spend the night on the floor, I think I'll probably be staying here at the shop through the night,” he said apologetically.

“You'll do no such thing,” Belle objected.

“Belle, the shop isn't secure, and I'll need to get a photo from the security footage of Ashley for Miss Swan anyway,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out gently.

Belle sighed, clearly unhappy. “And you can't sleep for the next twelve hours in case you have a concussion,” she added. “Fine. I'll bring our dinner here, as well as necessities for the morning, and I'll stay up with you.”

“Belle...”

“No argument!” she snapped. “You're not the invulnerable Dark One any more,” she reminded him, and a glassy, tearful sheen appeared over her eyes. “You're human, and fragile, and you don't have magic right now. I was so scared for you when I came in here and saw you on the floor,” she admitted.

Rumplestiltskin knew he needed to offer comfort and reassurance in the face of her worry and fear, and he raised a hand to cup her cheek. “Shh,” he soothed. “I'm not going anywhere,” he promised softly. “Not yet. The Seer promised me that I  _would_ find my son, after all. Can't do that if I'm dead, now can I?”

Belle sniffed and nuzzled into the hand on her cheek. “No, you can't,” she agreed. “Master, when you bring magic to this land... I am going to start practising in earnest,” she informed him resolutely.

“Belle?” Rumplestiltskin asked, confused and a little bit concerned – he would later put the confusion down to the concussion. He would simply deny the concern to himself, and anybody else who asked.

“I read every single one of the books you had on magic,” she pointed out. “Thoroughly. I learned everything, whether you intended for me to learn or not. I know all of how it works, and I know that magic is something that anybody _can_ learn how to do, if they're determined enough.”

“Some people are more naturally gifted,” Rumplestiltskin countered with a hint of a smile. “Emma will be, for example.”

“Emma is the product of True Love,” Belle said wryly. “Nothing in all the realms is more powerful than True Love. I was doing some small magics back home in the Dark Castle, so I know that I have the capability. I never tried to perform anything big before, just little things that didn't have great cost, but I'm sure I could manage.” Belle sighed then. “Alright, let's get off the floor.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled ruefully. “I suppose that means I have to give up my pillow,” he quipped.

Belle smiled back, and bent.

Rich, dark curls fell about them, an extra curtain of privacy in an empty shop in the middle of the night, and soft lips were tenderly pressed to Rumplestiltskin's brow.

“Only for now,” she whispered to him when she drew back.

~oOo~

Belle stood one step back and to the right of Rumplestiltskin when he stopped in front of the green-painted side of Miss Blanchard's apartment door, and politely knocked. It wasn't a long wait before the school teacher answered. The expression of muted terror on her face was mildly entertaining.

“Miss Blanchard,” Rumplestiltskin greeted. “Is Miss Swan here?” he enquired.

The terror on Mary Margaret's face shifted into confusion, and she turned wordlessly to someone beyond the door frame.

The blonde they'd come to speak to came into sight and pulled the door back further so that she had an unimpeded view of the pair.

“Hi, my name's Mr Gold,” Rumplestiltskin presented himself, and extended a hand to her. “We met briefly on your arrival?” he offered.

“I remember,” Emma replied as she shook his hand.

“Good,” Rumplestiltskin said. “I've a proposition for you, Miss Swan,” he continued as he retracted his hand. “I need your help. I'm looking for someone.”

Mary Margaret, arms folded, made a thoughtful 'uh-huh' motion silently, and her gaze darted passed Rumplestiltskin to Belle.

Emma's gaze did a full run around. She took in Mary Margaret's reaction, looked over at Belle, and then to Rumplestiltskin again. “Really?” she questioned, surprised. “Um...”

Neither Rumplestiltskin or Belle continued, but rather, both of them shifted their gazes briefly to Mary Margaret.

“You know what? I'm going to go... jump in the bath,” she declared as she recognised that they didn't want her present for the conversation, and scurried away.

“I have a photo,” Rumplestiltskin offered to Emma once the school teacher was gone, and held a hand out to Belle.

From her jacket, she removed the picture she'd captured from the shop security footage and printed off. Belle passed it to her master, and he passed it on to Emma.

Emma accepted the picture and stepped back from the door in that manner that was recognised in most every western household as a silent invitation to enter.

“Her name is Ashley Boyd,” Rumplestiltskin started. “And that picture was taken when she burgled my shop last night.”

“Why don't you just go to the police?” Emma asked flatly as she stared at the picture.

“Because,” Rumplestiltskin said, “she's a confused young woman. She's pregnant, alone and scared. I don't want to ruin this young girl's life,” he said sincerely.

“There's also the fact that it's Saturday,” Belle joined in. “Graham's all the police force we've got in Storybrooke, and on Saturdays, Regina has him quite literally by the balls. He'd be glad of any reprieve, but Regina would be even less pleasant than usual if her, now what does she call it again? Ah yes, 'Saturday City Council Meeting', was interrupted.”

Emma's expression of incredulous horror was quite rewarding.

“It's a small town, Miss Swan,” Rumplestiltskin reminded her with an amused smile. “And I make knowing everything that's going on my business, however unpleasant some of that knowledge may be.”

“Right,” Emma agreed cautiously. “When did you see her last?” she asked, bringing the conversation back onto why they were actually there as she fiddled with the photo in her hands.

“Last night, when she was in my shop,” Rumplestiltskin said. “It's how I got this,” he added, and drew back some of his hair from the injury to his temple that Belle had so lovingly tended to through the night.

Emma's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“It's so unlike her,” Rumplestiltskin admitted, his expression one of concern for the girl as he let his hair fall back into place over the injury. “She was quite wound up, rambling on about changing her life. I've no idea what got into her.”

A disquieted flash of guilt passed across Emma's features. Bingo. The Saviour strikes again. Ella had been a pathetic little girl back in the Enchanted Forest, but with just a little encouragement she'd grown one heck of a spine. It seemed that Emma had brought that out in Ashley as well.

“And she's been all over the place with hormones, so that's saying something,” Belle quipped.

“Please excuse Miss French,” Rumplestiltskin requested of Emma. “She's rather protective of me, but is friends with Miss Boyd as well. The whole situation has her very upset.”

“Breaking and entering, assault, burglary,” Belle listed off unhappily. “Just left him lying on the floor of the shop, unconscious and with a bleeding head injury. Lucky I found him – and she's due any bloody day!”

“Miss Swan, please help me find her,” Rumplestiltskin requested as he waved Belle down, equal parts calm and concerned, which rather countered Belle's somewhat snappish worry. “My only other choice would be the police -”

Belle coughed pointedly.

“I keep you busy enough without sending you off chasing after pregnant thieves, especially since you refuse to let me out of your sight right now, in case I take a turn,” Rumplestiltskin scolded her softly. “Miss Swan, I don't think anybody wants to see that baby born either while she's on the run or in jail, now do they?” he asked.

“No,” Emma agreed at once. “Of course not.”

“So you'll help me then?” Rumplestiltskin pressed.

“I will help her,” Emma stated.

Belle and Rumplestiltskin both smiled. Smart woman. How smart though, well, that was still to be determined, but for now she was intelligent enough to amend exactly who, in this situation, she was helping.

“Grand,” Rumplestiltskin declared softly, completely content with the way this deal had worked out.

Then the apartment door opened.

“Hey Emma I was thinking we -” Henry said as he entered. Then he came into view past the door, saw Rumplestiltskin and Belle, and stopped short. Frozen in place and suddenly without voice and with a great many nerves.

“Hey Henry,” Rumplestiltskin greeted with a genuinely warm smile. “How're you?”

“...Okay?” the boy offered nervously, and gave a smile that wasn't really genuine, but still looked so much like his grandfather's.

It was a wonder no one else had spotted the likeness before.

Rumplestiltskin was a little saddened to see how nervous he made the boy, especially when they'd hardly interacted before.

“Good,” he decided, and gave the lad as warm a smile as he could, but decided that Henry's arrival was probably his cue to leave. “Good luck, Miss Swan,” he bid. “Miss French, we have an inventory to catalogue,” he summoned as he headed for the door.

“We're fairly sure we know what Ashley broke in for,” Belle confided to Emma quickly, “and all her actions were caught on the security cameras, but she might have taken more than just what she was looking for from the safe she broke into, opportunity and all. And the safe door opened the wrong way for us to see from the cameras.”

Emma nodded in unhappy understanding.

Rumplestiltskin waited in the hall as Belle closed the door behind herself.

“I think that went well,” he decided as they headed towards the building's exit.

~oOo~

“She's taken Ruby's car, heading for Boston,” Belle reported when she returned to the shop with her employer's BLT. “Emma's already gone after her. And Ruby wasn't happy to see me.”

Rumplestiltskin winced. “I'm sorry for the position you're in,” he apologised.

Belle shook her head. “I made friends with Ashley when I was Elvira, and when Elvira was already your PA at that. I put myself into this situation. I've also figured out who you could give the baby to,” she offered. “If Ashley does ultimately decide she's not ready for parenthood.”

“Who?” Rumplestiltskin asked instantly.

“Marco,” Belle supplied with a small smile. “His memories have himself and his 'late' wife -” and by that, she meant a wife created in false memories, “- trying for a long time. No joy. I'm sure he would welcome Ashley into his very little family as well, if he agreed to accept the child.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded thoughtfully. “If she surrenders the child, which is unlikely given her latest actions, then that's what we'll do,” he agreed. “In the mean time, I'm going to have my lunch, and then we'll go over to the hospital.”

Belle nodded in understanding.

~oOo~

The slow, meandering walk to the hospital was quiet. It was a fine day of few clouds and mild weather. The perfect day to go for a walk. There was also no hurry, since it was entirely possible for a labour to last hours, and hanging about in the waiting room wasn't something either of them cared for. As Rumplestiltskin and Belle entered the building, they saw one of the doctors approach a pacing Emma.

“Miss Swan?” the doctor called.

Emma stopped her pacing, and Henry turned in his seat to give the doctor his attention as well.

“The baby is a healthy six-pound girl,” the doctor pronounced. “And the mother is doing fine,” she assured with a smile before she turned away. She had duties to attend to, after all. Delivering good news like that only took up a very small portion of her day.

“What lovely news,” Rumplestiltskin declared softly, and the smile that had been growing on Emma's face fell away completely at the sound of his voice. “Excellent work, Miss Swan,” he praised. “I believe I owe you a cheque for finding Miss Boyd for me. And my merchandise, of course.”

“You sick -” Emma caught herself when Belle coughed softly and glanced pointedly at Henry. “- old man,” she substituted. “What kind of business are you running?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled a little at that. “You're referring to the arrangement that the infant's paternal grandfather set up for Miss Boyd with me,” he stated.

“You're damn right I am,” Emma said softly, lowly, as she took a few measured steps closer to him and away from Henry. “How is a _baby_ your merchandise?” she demanded.

“That was a quip. Miss Swan, Storybrooke has neither a social services office, nor an adoption agency,” Rumplestiltskin offered, his voice just as low as Emma's. “I... approximate those roles here.”

“You're the Godfather, huh?” Emma grumbled.

Rumplestiltskin smiled a smile that showed off his gold tooth. He thought that was a rather nice addition to his smile in this land. If Regina survived the mob that would inevitably form once the curse broke, then he might remember to thank her for it. He doubted it though.

“Why didn't you tell me her _baby_ was your 'merchandise'?” Emma demanded lowly.

“Because at the time, you didn't need to know,” Rumplestiltskin answered reasonably.

“Really? Or did you think I wouldn't take the job?” Emma questioned, her blue gaze sharp and fixed on the well-dressed figure of Mr Gold.

“On the contrary,” Rumplestiltskin disagreed lightly. “If anyone could understand the reasons behind giving up a baby, I would assume it would be you. Miss Boyd is in a poor situation for raising a child, and there are childless people, wanting one, who are well situated. In exchange for more than enough money to get her life back on track, I get to pass Miss Boyd's child on to a far more stable home,” he explained, his words calmly spoken in a measured and reasonable tone. “It does make sense.”

“Except that Ashley wants to keep her baby,” Emma pointed out tersely. “You're not getting that kid.”

“Unfortunately, though the deal was arranged by a third party, Miss Boyd still signed it,” Rumplestiltskin countered, and his pleasant smile slipped into a measured grimace. “We have a contract. My contracts are always honoured. I have a reputation to uphold, after all. If it is not, then I am going to have to involve the police. If the police get involved, then that baby is going to end up in the system,” he reminded her. “And that would be a pity,” he added with a commiserating, unhappy expression – one that, in this instance, masked genuine reluctance to go down that particular path. “You didn't enjoy your time in the system, did you, Miss Swan?” he reminded softly.

“It's not going to happen,” Emma asserted darkly.

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “I like your confidence. Charming,” he said, and to anybody who didn't know the context, it was merely a compliment. To those (very few) who did, then it was a subtle quip on how alike she was to her father in that moment. “But all I have to do is press charges. She did, after all, break into my shop.”

“Assault and burglary,” Belle muttered unhappily.

“Miss Boyd can hardly make another break for Boston in her current condition,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out frankly.

“Let me guess,” Emma requested. “She broke into your shop to steal the contract.”

“She did take a legal document from a safe in my shop, and is at least to be commended that she didn't take anything else,” Rumplestiltskin agreed with a small, almost fond smile. They had security footage showing that the only thing Ashley took was his keys from his belt once she'd downed him, and checking the contents of the raided safe proved that she had only taken her contract from the vault in the shop. She'd left the keys behind on the counter, and hadn't even raided the cash register, much as she could have used the money.

Of course, there was also the copy of the contract that Rumplestiltskin kept in a locked filing cabinet in his legal office, as well as the one in the office safe at his house as well...

“You know that no jury in the world will put a woman in jail whose only reason for breaking and entering was to keep her child,” Emma declared.

“Actually,” Belle corrected, “there are plenty of countries where she'd already have had her hands chopped off, at least, regardless of her reasons why or her condition.”

Emma winced at the comment.

“Miss French is almost excessively well-read,” Rumplestiltskin explained wryly.

“Still, I’m willing to roll the dice that contract doesn’t stand up in court _here_. Are you?” she questioned pointedly. “Not to mention what might come out about you in the process,” she added, almost dangerously. “Somehow, I suspect, there is more to you than a simple pawn broker. You really want to start that fight?” she asked.

Rumplestiltskin smiled, an appreciative glint in his eye. “I like you, Miss Swan,” he decided.

Emma's answering smile was not large, but it was slightly victorious.

“You're not afraid of me,” Rumplestiltskin noted, “and there's precious few in these parts who can honestly claim that. As such, I'd like to have you on my side.”

“So she can keep the baby?” Emma asked at once.

“Not so fast,” Rumplestiltskin warned. “There's still the matter of my _agreement_ with Miss Boyd, which I assure you is entirely legal, above-board, and beyond reproach. I am the best lawyer in this little town, after all. You're quite right when you say there's more to me than a simple pawn broker, Miss Swan.”

“So tear it up,” Emma suggested at once.

“That's not what I do,” Rumplestiltskin replied, and as serious as he was, a hint of his old theatrical-ness seeped through. “You see, contracts,” he smirked, “deals,” he emphasised, “they're the very foundation of all civilised existence, and as I said earlier, I have a reputation to uphold. So, I put it to you now,” he offered. “If you want Miss Boyd to keep that baby, are you willing to make a deal with me?” he asked.

“What do you want?” Emma queried cautiously.

“Oh, I don't know just yet,” Rumplestiltskin admitted with a shrewd smile. “You'll owe me a favour,” he suggested.

Emma leant in close. “Deal,” she agreed lowly.

“Grand,” Rumplestiltskin declared. “Now... ah yes. I asked you to find Miss Boyd, and you did. Alteration of my agreement with her does not change that I owe you a cheque for services rendered,” he stated firmly. He would not be moved on this – he had a reputation of honouring _all_ his deals. Not just the ones that made him out to be the bad guy.

Belle stepped up to his side and opened the briefcase she was carrying for him.

Rumplestiltskin picked out his chequebook and a pen, and signed off on the figure he'd already filled in.

“There,” he said as he tore out the cheque, and held the slip out to the blonde. “All nice and tidy. And yes, Miss French, you may visit your friend and tell her the news. The terrible tension has been resolved. I'll even still uphold my end and pay her the previously agreed amount, which should be most helpful to her, since she'll have a baby draining her meagre finances now.”

Belle smiled gratefully, wrapped both of her hands around one of his – she could hardly hug him or press a kiss to his cheek in such a public area – gave a quick squeeze, then hurried off to see Ashley.

~oOo~

Ashley sucked in a frightened breath and held her baby a bit closer when Belle walked into her room.

“Elle,” she said, and her big blue eyes were frightened. “You can't take her, please Elle. Please don't take my baby,” Ashley alternately insisted and begged.

Belle shook her head. “I'm not here to take her,” she assured her friend. She moved to sit down on the chair that was by Ashley's bed. “You're really lucky, you know? Mr Gold isn't going to press any charges for your having broken into his shop and assaulting him.”

Ashley's eyes went big. It was clear that she hadn't thought of that set of potential consequences to her actions.

Belle ploughed on, pretending not to notice the look of fear on the younger woman's face.

“He's also agreed to give up his claim to your child,” Belle continued.

Ashley visibly relaxed.

“And he's _still_ going to pay you the previously agreed amount, even though he's not getting anything from you in exchange,” Belle declared.

Ashley's jaw dropped and her eyes very nearly popped out of her head they went so wide.

“What? How did -? I don't understand,” Ashley spluttered.

Belle smiled. “Mr Gold is... more complicated than anybody really gives credit for,” she explained softly. She couldn't say he was nicer than he let on. That was her secret, and she wasn't sharing it with anybody who wasn't smart enough to figure it out for themselves. Not yet. “Miss Swan made a deal with him so you get to keep your baby girl, while she owes him a favour, unspecified,” she added honestly. “I think the rest of it, you getting the money anyway, was a favour to me, but don't quote me on that. Now, what's this little princess's name?” Belle asked eagerly and reached out to gently stroke one new-born-soft cheek.

“Alexandra,” Ashley whispered tenderly in answer. “Her name's Alexandra. Am I... is Mr Gold really still going to...?” she couldn't seem to get the question out in full.

Belle knew what Ashley was asking though, so she didn't need to. Belle nodded.

“He really is,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you,” Ashley said with a great, loud, snotty sniff.

“Yeah, well, baby bills will probably eat through that payment as fast as you can sneeze,” Belle pointed out wryly.

Ashley laughed wetly – she'd started crying. “Every little bit helps,” she replied happily.

Belle smiled briefly. “I've got to go,” she apologised as she stood from the chair. “I'll see you around Ashley.”

Ashley smiled. “Thank you,” she said again.

Emma and Henry entered the room just as Belle was leaving it.

“What's the wee one's name?” Rumplestiltskin asked Belle when she rejoined him and they were headed out of the hospital.

“Alexandra,” Belle answered.

Rumplestiltskin considered that. “The same one that Prince Thomas chose back in the Enchanted Forest. I recall that Cinderella said it wasn't a name so much as a prison sentence. I'd make comment, but I know I'm really in no position to pass judgement on a name,” he decided.

Belle giggled.

~oOo~

“Belle, I need you to go over my property holdings,” Rumplestiltskin requested when the whole shop shook, completely out of the blue.

“No, you need me to pick everything up off the floor,” Belle countered. “You're not doing it with that leg of yours.”

Rumplestiltskin winced. “You're right,” he agreed. “I'll head into the firm office and check over the property listings.”

“Why do you need to check your holdings anyway?” Belle asked, confused, as she removed her shoes for greater ease while scrambling around on the floor.

“Because Maine isn't on a fault line, but there _is_ a honeycomb old mines near the town,” Rumplestiltskin explained as he hobbled his way into the office.

“Mines?” Belle repeated thoughtfully. “The curse brought the old fairy-dust mines?” she asked, nearly incredulous, when she realised just what they must be.

“It was a very comprehensive curse,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out calmly, and though Belle couldn't see him once they were in separate part of the building, she just knew he was wearing such an inscrutable expression on his face as to not give away if he was proud or displeased that the mines had been brought along with so much else. “They've been 'abandoned' for as long as Storybrooke has existed, but not an issue until the curse began to weaken.”

“They were frozen in time with everything and everyone else,” Belle recognised as she collected up chess pieces from the floor – checking them over for any possible damage as she did.

“That's right. Now I need to see if I've got the title deeds for them,” Rumplestiltskin grumbled, just audible over the slide of drawers and the rustle of many papers. “I do not enjoy the haziness the curse caused in my memory, nor do I relish the prospect of being held accountable if someone decides to explore those mines and gets themselves hurt.”

“It will be filed with the civil sites, if you have anything to do with it,” Belle called back to him. “Second drawer of the green filing cabinet.”

The rattle of one drawer closing, and another being pulled open, was her answer.

“There's a plan of the tunnels and shafts, but no certificate of ownership,” Rumplestiltskin said after a few moments of quiet searching, and he sounded mildly confused.

“Then you don't own it,” Belle replied as she set the wooden puppets that had once been Geppetto's parents back in their places. “I was probably just feeling very comprehensive one day, or maybe you expressed an interest. I don't remember either.”

“The mines extend out past the town boundaries,” Rumplestiltskin declared softly as he walked back into the main area of the shop, the dossier on the mines held open in one hand. “They also connect to the library basement.”

Belle frowned. “The library basement?” she repeated, surprised and confused. “I don't think I knew that the library had a basement.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. “And yet, it is included in the building plans that you have on file,” he quipped light-heartedly.

Belle's frown deepened, just a little, as she thought back, searching through the hazy memories of her life as Elvira French, _forcing_ them to clarify as she sought out one specific detail. “Huh, I did know that,” she realised softly. “Tea?”

“That sounds grand, dear.”

~oOo~

“The soap opera's off to a flying start,” Belle reported. She – and _not_ Mr Gold – had been invited to a party that Kathryn Nolan had thrown to celebrate her husband's release from the hospital. A party at which, incidentally, she had learned that Emma had been made deputy sheriff at roughly the same time as the mine-quake.

“Please spare me,” Rumplestiltskin requested as he spun simple woollen yarn at the wheel he'd had Belle move into the living room one evening. “I already helped them find their True Love once. Until and unless Regina sets one of them up for the murder of the inconvenient wife, I'm staying well clear of the pair this time.”

Belle smirked. “Uh-huh, this from the man who took such delight in giving everybody exactly what they wanted?” she teased. “And claiming such interesting prices in return?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled fondly in remembrance, halted the wheel, and set down the wool he'd been spinning. He turned to her, and he stopped short. There was a glint about Belle's neck...

Belle looked down at herself to see what had caught her master's interest, and she was smiling when she lifted her gaze once more.

“I found it when I was tidying up, after the mess caused the the mine-quake,” she said. “It's truly remarkable, the things that you have hidden away behind some of those pictures on the walls. I never realised how many cubby-holes there were about the place.”

Rumplestiltskin's eyes jerked up from the glitter about Belle's throat to look her in the eye again.

“I suppose you took inventory,” he quipped hoarsely.

Belle's smile grew wider. “Of course I did,” she agreed. “Nothing magic got put in your ledgers though. Those are in a simple document on my laptop in coded short-hand. No one else will know what's where, I promise.”

“Belle, that...” Rumplestiltskin hesitated as he reached out to touch the amulet that hung from a simple gold thread at her neck. He stopped himself inches away from it.

“It still has magic in it,” Belle supplied. “It still _works_ , though maybe not quite as well. Even in a land without magic, this is so thoroughly spelled that the magic in it survived here for twenty-eight years.”

“You don't need to wear that Belle,” Rumplestiltskin stated, and lowered his hand. “You shouldn't. It's a collar to keep you tied to a monster.”

Belle rolled her eyes and stepped around Rumplestiltskin so that she could sit and face him.

“Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure we had this conversation, more than once, even,” she reminded him. “I can take it off if I want to. Nothing is stopping me from doing so – except for my own desire to never be without it. Besides, I find that I am now rather looking forward to the expressions on peoples faces when I tell them you gave me such a beautiful necklace,” she added with a cheeky, mischievous little smile.

That, at least, startled a “Ha!” out of Rumplestiltskin, and his smile was loving as he looked at her.

“But the lingering question is, really, do you want Charming to remember _his_ life? Or David Nolan's life?” Belle asked with concern.

“David Nolan's,” Rumplestiltskin answered at once. “Or he won't know how to function in this world properly when the curse is broken. It's unfortunate for Miss Blanchard in the interim, but it is what it is.”

“She's still trying to keep her distance,” Belle pointed out. “He's the one pushing at the moment. I'll suggest he comes by the shop some time. Everybody was telling him all through the party that the smallest thing could trigger his memories, and there really is no telling if something that Kathryn sold us since – or that he supposedly sold us before he lost his memory – might not do the trick,” she offered.

“Belle, have I ever told you just how utterly perfect you are?” Rum asked her with an almost coy smile.

Belle smiled back at once, but was quick to bite down on her bottom lip and drop her eyes. “No,” she confessed softly.

“Well, then I'm telling you now. You're completely, totally, and utterly perfect,” he said in an earnest, sincere whisper. He caught up one of Belle's hands in his, and softly nuzzled her palm, just relishing in her touch. Any touch at all to his person being something he so often thought himself utterly unworthy of.

Belle blushed. “You've always been perfect,” she whispered back. “I'd, uh, I'm going to call Kathryn. It's late, but she's probably still up, cleaning after the party.”

“Yes, the sooner David Nolan fully asserts himself, the less it will hurt Miss Blanchard,” Rumplestiltskin agreed with that trickster's smirk of his, and released his hold on Belle's hand.


	8. Chapter 8

When Rumplestiltskin and Belle arrived at the pawnshop the next morning, they were only slightly surprised to find the Nolans, standing by the locked door and waiting for them.

“Do you really think this will work?” David asked as Belle unlocked the shop's front door.

“I make no guarantees,” Rumplestiltskin warned in answer. “But if being surrounded by friends in your home didn't, then simply poking about in my shop might. Apart from that, maybe you'll see something you like, and I'll be able to make a sale.”

The Nolans both smiled, weakly, at that.

Belle opened the door then, and flicked on the lights. Rumplestiltskin followed her in, and the Nolans trailed behind him. Rumplestiltskin went to stand by the counter at the back of the shop, where he could watch as the young couple separated from each others sides and started staring about them at the various items on display. Belle moved around systematically, pulling up the blinds on the windows as she went. Once her task was done, Rumplestiltskin vanished out to the back room to work on a restoration, and Belle took up his previous post of watching over the couple as they looked about the shop.

Charming lingered a moment over the mobile of crystal unicorns that had hung over Emma's cradle before the curse had struck.

“David?” Kathryn called softly when she noticed.

“Huh?” he asked, distracted.

“Do you... like that?” she asked hopefully. “Maybe... want to...?”

David shook his head. “No,” he said. “I mean, it's lovely, but... I don't really think now is a good time to be thinking about...”

“No,” Kathryn agreed quickly, her hesitant smile instantly fading. “No, you're right.”

In the end, it was the windmill that did it. The same ugly little windmill that Kathryn swore up and down that David had hated the moment he saw it on the lawn of the house they'd ended up buying.

“You're right,” he told her. “I did hate this old thing,” he said as he gently turned the sails of the windmill.

“You remember?” Kathryn asked, all hopeful and fearful and taut as a bowstring.

“Yeah,” David agreed. “Maybe not everything, but enough. We... we weren’t at a good place when I left,” he recalled.

“No, we weren't,” Kathryn agreed sadly. “You were leaving me,” she admitted in a resigned whisper.

“I wasn’t, well, not really,” David protested softly. “I wanted to work things out, I just…needed some time. Then I had my accident and got much more time than I expected, only it didn't help either of us,” he explained heavily. “I’m sorry.”

“I'm sorry too,” Kathryn admitted, and she was fighting back tears.

“If you like,” Belle cut in before they could get any more soppy in her master's shop – there were other places in Storybrooke much more suited to heaving emotions of this variety, and she knew Rumplestiltskin didn't want to watch any portion of the soap-opera playing out in front of him if it could be helped. “I could show you both into Mr Gold's legal office. I know he has a few apartments that are unoccupied,” she offered. “Even if he doesn't bother advertising them any more.”

David sighed. “That might be for the best,” he agreed.

“David?” Kathryn questioned, fearful.

“Kathryn, I remember _that_ I felt for you,” David explained gently, “but the feelings didn't return with the memories.”

Kathryn sniffed.

“I'm sorry,” David said again.

Kathryn nodded. “Me too,” she answered with another sniff. “I just...”

“Yeah,” David agreed.

Belle opened the door to Mr Gold's legal office, urged them to sit, and promised that her boss would be right with them.

Rumplestiltskin was in the office with the couple for the rest of the day. Belle fetched lunch for all of them when the time rolled around. When the couple left, it was with divorce papers in hand – Kathryn would be keeping the house, and David had signed a lease for an apartment on the opposite side of town to Miss Blanchard. Not that he said that, but still, Rumplestiltskin had been quite careful in which properties he offered to the man.

“That should stir things up,” Belle quipped to Rumplestiltskin as she set about the closing routine.

“Very likely,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. “But a simple divorce will save us all from at least some of the melodrama they'd have perpetuated otherwise.”

“And you said you wouldn't step in unless someone was accused of murder,” Belle teased with a smile.

“Yes, well, I decided that I'd rather take preventative action. Regina can keep her monopoly on small-town scandals,” Rumplestiltskin dismissed.

Belle just smiled knowingly. After all, it was because of Rumplestiltskin that Snow White had met her Prince Charming in the first place, and he really was a fan of True Love, whatever mockery he might give it before an audience.

~oOo~

It was one of those rare days when Mr Gold woke at the same time that Miss French did. This had happened occasionally during the twenty-eight years of cursed near-monotony. Mr Gold would come to the breakfast table before breakfast was actually ready, dressed in one of his usual suits, but rather than his fine, mirror-shined shoes, he had pulled on a pair of gumboots. He also collected an apron, his gardening gloves, and a shovel.

“Foreclosure?” Belle enquired with a playful frown – it was a joke. “I don't remember anybody being due.”

“No, not today,” Rumplestiltskin answered calmly, a serene, amused smile dancing over his lips. “I actually just wanted to check on the tree we'd be having come Christmas.”

Belle laughed softly. “Right,” she drawled sarcastically. They may well do that as well, but she knew the truth. Still, she voiced no other quips, but simply traded little blue heels for her own pair of gumboots, and swapped her kitchen apron for her gardening one. “I'll bring the fertiliser and the watering can.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded in silent appreciation, and with the breakfast dishes in the sink – Belle would clean them up later – they locked up the house and headed out to the woods.

It seemed that the shop would be opening later than usual today. Neither one of them minded the smell of fertiliser hanging about, which it would for a while, but it was hardly professional. They'd be returning to the house and getting changed before going into town to the shop.

Rumplestiltskin had just finished turning the soil – satisfied that the dagger of the Dark One was still where it should be, and the tree they would use at Christmas was growing well – when a sound of heavy breathing in the otherwise silent wood caught their attention.

Belle bent to water the turned earth while Rumplestiltskin straightened.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” he called cheerfully when he spotted the man, only to then notice his ragged breath and the wild look about his eyes. For that matter, the feverish glaze and rubbed-raw redness about them as well. “Sorry if I startled you.”

“Right,” Graham agreed. “Sorry, I... I thought you were a wolf,” he admitted, his breath still short.

“Did I forget to shave?” Rumplestiltskin asked wryly. “Miss French?” he called over his shoulder.

“You shaved,” she answered, straightening from where she'd been hidden by the foliage of the plant-life. “Maybe not as thoroughly as usual, but you shaved.”

“What... what are you two doing out here so early?” Graham asked, confused.

“A spot of gardening,” Rumplestiltskin answered at once, and his smile stretched just a little bit as he held his shovel steady. “Yourself?” he enquired.

“I was looking for...” Graham trailed off.

“A wolf,” Belle finished, a wry curve to her lips.

“Yeah, I think I'm beginning to catch on,” Rumplestiltskin agreed thoughtfully. “You know, to my knowledge Sheriff, there are no wolves in Storybrooke. Not the literal kind, anyway,” he corrected, just a little slyly. “Why are you looking?” he asked.

“You'll think I'm crazy,” Graham said – and though he'd been not-running for long enough to have caught his breath by now, he was still having trouble breathing (and talking) normally.

“Try me,” Rumplestiltskin requested.

“I saw one in... my dreams?” he hesitated, “and then I... saw one... for real. Just a few hours ago. Did you, uh... did you see anything unusual out there?” he asked hopefully.

“Apart from your own good self looking decidedly feverish, I'm afraid not,” Rumplestiltskin confessed as he walked carefully – cane in one hand, shovel in the other – over the leaf-litter and back to the path that would lead back to town. “Miss French?”

Belle shook her head.

“I do wish we could be more helpful,” Rumplestiltskin apologised. “You know Sheriff, they say that dreams...” he paused to look back at the man, a thoughtful, considering expression on his face as he took in the Sheriff's sweaty visage. “Dreams are memories,” he offered. “Memories of another life.”

Side by side, they watched the barest flicker of a light come to life in the depths of Graham's eyes – a light that they were accustomed to seeing only truly in each other, and Regina on the rare occasions they crossed her path. The light of someone who remembered their life in the Enchanted Forest. Graham didn't quite, not yet, but he was beginning to, and that he did not yet remember fully was disturbing his mental state.

“And what do you believe?” Graham asked, very hesitant, and just a little desperate.

Rumplestiltskin smirked in such a way as to show off his gold tooth. “I never rule out anything,” he said firmly. “Good luck, Sheriff,” he bid as he carefully lifted one leg, then the other over a fallen tree. “I do hope you find what you're looking for.”

“Good luck,” Belle agreed, and followed after her master.

“Keep an eye on him dear,” Rumplestiltskin ordered Belle softly. “He's too close to Regina for waking up to the full truth to be safe for him.”

“Yes Sire,” Belle agreed. “But it can wait until after breakfast,” she insisted.

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “Alright,” he agreed. “I suppose it can at that.”

~oOo~

Belle tracked Graham's major movements through the day. Subtly, of course. She didn't go running about the town a strategic five paces behind the man, nor did she watch him from a block away as she sat in Mr Gold's car. Still, she tracked him quite efficiently. Mr Gold was Godfather and Big Brother – but she was the one who tracked all behaviours and operated all the cameras for him, and they were all over town.

He went to see Miss Blanchard, and from speaking with her he went to see Henry. Upon leaving the mayor's house, he was met by Emma. The pair then raced off after a grey, blurred shape that was never properly caught by any of the cameras that Belle was watching.

It led them to the Storybrooke cemetery.

The one place where Belle only had a single camera watching the gate. It was a deserted place generally, and a place where people were nearly always solemn. Occasionally the teenagers who were interested in the 'goth scene' (a very small minority about the place) went there, but they were respectful enough that Elvira French had never seen any reason to install any hidden cameras among the graves.

Belle was regretting that oversight now, and closed her laptop with a slightly frustrated slam.

“Belle?” Rumplestiltskin called softly.

“They're at the graveyard,” she answered shortly.

“We have no eyes there,” Rumplestiltskin recalled softly.

“I'm going to have to go myself,” Belle grumbled.

“Go,” Rumplestiltskin permitted with a nod. “I'll handle things here. Leave your laptop though, I'll watch the cameras, just in case. You have your phone?”

Belle nodded quickly. “Your name, your real name, is the password,” she told him, then gave him a last, brief smile and dashed out the door.

Rumplestiltskin was dumbfounded by that simple little statement.  _His_ name was the password to her computer? Well... fancy that. He opened up the slim, black, portable computer and dutifully typed in his name when it asked for the password.

~oOo~

Belle watched silently, with her phone's camera recording everything from the moment Graham and Emma stopped in front of the mausoleum for Regina's father, through when Regina arrived and found them there, through the confrontation between her and Graham, through the  _fight_ between her and Emma, until the Sheriff and his deputy left.

She saved the file and sent it to Rumplestiltskin, then called him.

“ _I haven't had time to watch the file you just sent me yet m'dear,”_ he said when he answered.

“It's a bit of Graham rambling like he was this morning, then the sheriff and his deputy having a little confrontation with our dear mayor,” Belle summarised quickly. “They're leaving the graveyard now, but Regina is still here.”

“ _Watch her,”_ Rumplestiltskin ordered at once. _“Graham was led there for a reason. I want to know what it is. As soon as she's gone, I want you to scour every inch of that place.”_

“Yes Sire,” Belle agreed, blue eyes sharp as she watched Regina enter the tomb. She knew, from past surveillance, that Regina visited her father's grave every Wednesday. She knew how long it generally took for Regina to come and go. Tonight, Belle granted that the mayor would probably take a little extra time after the confrontation with her lover and the Saviour...

Belle narrowed her eyes. Not this long though, and there had been that soft (but distinct) grinding sound of stone upon stone. She crept nearer. She had to go around the back since Regina had shut the door, and peeked in through the window.

The coffin was most certainly  _not_ centred in the crypt at that moment, and a narrow flight of stairs was in view.

Well, at least she knew where she would need to concentrate her little investigation once Regina had left. Now she just had to wait the other woman out.

Her phone vibrated silently in her pocket before Regina left – really, it was only sensible to put it on silent when she was sneaking about. She pulled it out. She had a text message from Rumplestiltskin.

_The sheriff is dead_ it said.

Belle took a deep, steadying breath. It looked like she'd have an apartment to clear out in the morning. Graham had been one of Mr Gold's tenants, and he had no family to do the task for him. Belle bit her lip and blinked back her tears. She'd liked Graham. She hadn't known him in the Enchanted Forest, but she'd known him in Storybrooke. He'd been a good man, and now there was one less good man in the world. It was a terrible loss.

There was another soft grinding sound from within the mausoleum not long after that, and the creak of the door as it was opened and shut once more. Belle peeked around to watch Regina leave, and when the older woman was out of sight, Belle slipped in.

She pushed aside the coffin, and she raced down the stairs as fast as was safe in the heels she was wearing.

“Gods in hell,” she breathed as she took in the sight that greeted her there. She whipped out her phone once more and started taking pictures. She recognised much from her years spent in the Enchanted Forest, spent in Rumplestiltskin's work room, but she did not recognise everything.

What she didn't recognise though, she had no doubts that her master would.

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin gave Belle the key for Graham's apartment – the late sheriff was one of Mr Gold's many tenants after all, and he always kept a spare key for every property he owned – and she started sorting through his belongings. He didn't have much. Essential furniture, a dart board, clothing, all the usual things. The furniture could stay in the apartment, though she'd take the sheets to the charity shop that the nuns had. They didn't exactly do a great business, but it was the right place to take the sheets. Most of Graham's clothes would be sent to the thrift store, with the exception of the jacket that he always wore when he was on duty.

It, along with the few keepsakes he had, Belle packed up into a box. She'd take them to the pawnshop for Rumplestiltskin to look through. He could decide what to do with them.

Next, Belle organised Graham's funeral. There was no funeral home in Storybrooke – time had been frozen, so no one died to need it. She'd paid one of the orderlies at the hospital to dress Graham's body, and she'd gone to Marco (Geppetto) for a wooden box. He was the best carpenter in town, so it made sense that he be asked to make the coffin when there was no business specifically catering to the needs of the dead.

The coffin Marco made was simple, but beautiful, and the whole town came to pay their respects as it was lowered into the ground. The headstone was a simple grey slab.  _Graham Humbert_ it read.  _A Good Man_ .

There were no speeches or eulogies given. Everyone simply stood in solemn, sad silence, and mourned a while before they slowly began to drift away, back to their inane little lives.

The men Belle had hired to dig the grave (they'd been dwarves once, now merely shorter-than-usual men; Leroy, who had been Dreamy, and then Grumpy back in the Enchanted Forest, and Mike, who had been Happy) moved to fill it in over the coffin. Over the few flowers that people had bought from Moe French and dropped down on top of the coffin once it had been lowered in.

Belle had  _not_ bought the wreath she held from her father's flower shop. She'd made it herself, with dandelions and garlic flowers, carefully woven together. Dandelions for faithfulness, and the garlic flowers for courage. When the grave was filled, she lay the wreath on top, and then returned to the pawnshop. She had work to catch up on.

~oOo~

The bell over the door chimed.

“Gold?” Emma called out. “Elle? Either of you in here?”

“Well, it is my shop,” Rumplestiltskin quipped lowly. “And the sign is turned to 'open', at the moment.”

Emma followed the soft sound of his low muttering through the curtained door and into the back room where Rumplestiltskin did his restorations. She promptly choked.

“Woah! What is that?” she asked as her eyes began to water, and raised a hand to guard her nose against the smell before manners registered that speaking through her hand would simply not do.

“Lanolin,” Rumplestiltskin replied with a smile as he set the brush back into the pot. “Used for waterproofing.”

“It smells like livestock,” Emma choked out.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. “Well, it is the reason why sheep's wool repels water,” he quipped, and grabbed his cane so that he could stand from his work table.

“It stinks,” Emma reiterated. “Um, if there was a reason you called the Sheriff's Department... if you want to talk about that quickly, or outside,” she suggested hopefully.

Rumplestiltskin smiled and gestured for her to lead the way out of the work room and out into the main shop space. Belle had fled to Granny's for lunch not long after he'd gotten the lanolin melted down, ready for use. She knew the smell of it, was certainly more accustomed to the smell of it than Emma, but it was also lunch time – and he knew she would be lingering over her meal there before returning with his sandwich.

“I wanted to express my condolences,” Rumplestiltskin offered once they were out of the enclosed space that was filled with the smell of raw sheep. “Graham was a good man.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “I think that even got put on his marker,” she said.

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Miss French organised it all, I don't know if you knew.”

“No, I didn't,” Emma admitted. “Why... why did Elle...?” she hesitantly asked, confused.

“He rented an apartment that I own,” Rumplestiltskin said, “and as he didn't have any actual family, Miss French saw to the disposition of his property and person on my behalf. Like I said, he was a good man.”

“And you're the Godfather,” Emma quipped softly.

Rumplestiltskin smiled the smile that showed off his gold tooth. “Indeed,” he agreed with a soft chuckle. “I have his things here,” he said, and drew the cardboard box Belle had collected across the counter. “I'd like to offer you a keepsake.”

“I... don't need anything,” Emma denied.

“Then it will go to Mayor Mills,” Belle announced as she entered the shop, bag of lunch for her master in one hand. “Since she was the closest he had to family.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Emma denied darkly.

“No love lost there, I see,” Rumplestiltskin noted.

“The affair they were having,” Belle explained to Emma apologetically as she passed over the takeaway bag to her boss. “It makes Regina the person... _closest_ to him,” she said with a grimace.

“Thank you, Miss French,” Rumplestiltskin said gratefully as he accepted the paper bag with his lunch in from her. “I do fear that it will all simply find its way into the trash bin,” Rumplestiltskin added to Emma. “You really should take something. His jacket?” he suggested. “You've been acting sheriff for two weeks. The position is yours by default, though I notice you haven't claimed the sheriff's badge yet.”

“I'm not in any hurry,” Emma denied with a shake of her head.

“And Regina will claim she has the right to appoint a sheriff,” Belle interjected. “She's wrong, but she'll try and get you out of the position.”

Emma frowned. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“The promotion to sheriff is automatic, unless someone presents either themselves or someone else as a candidate before two weeks is up,” Belle explained. “Mayor Mills doesn't like you, and won't like the idea of you being sheriff of what she perceives as her town. She'll try and get you out.”

“She can only appoint a candidate though,” Rumplestiltskin pressed with a smile. “She can't actually just steam-roll you out of the job, unless you decide not to fight for it. You can run against her candidate, then there will be a debate, a vote, and a new sheriff will be elected.”

“And you're telling me this because...?” Emma queried.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle both smiled.

“Because you're not frightened of me,” Rumplestiltskin stated frankly and with a smile. “You're not frightened of Mayor Mills either. We need someone in this town like that Miss Swan. We need someone like that for sheriff.”

“Even if that means I might arrest you one day?” Emma asked cautiously, an eyebrow raised sceptically.

Rumplestiltskin's smile became a smirk. “Even if,” he agreed. “I'm prepared to give you my full support in the race for Sheriff, should it come to that.”

“Here,” Belle said, changing the subject as she reached into the cardboard box of Graham's things and pulled out a pair of walkie-talkies. “Something to remember Graham by, and you and Henry can play with them as well,” she offered.

“I don't -” Emma protested weakly.

“No, please,” Rumplestiltskin cut in, and his brown eyes went far away into memory. “They... they grow up so fast,” he said softly. “ You enjoy these with your boy. Your time together is precious, you know? That’s the thing about children – before you know it, you lose them.”

Emma frowned thoughtfully at that, but reached out to take the walkie-talkies all the same.

“Thanks,” she said. “And... thanks for the information too.”

“Have a good day, Miss Swan,” Rumplestiltskin bid with a nod.

“Stay safe,” Belle added with a smile.

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, and left the store.

~oOo~

“Did she?” Rumplestiltskin asked Belle – she'd been keeping watch on the surveillance feeds from the sheriff's office while he returned to preparing a little arson.

“She did,” Belle confirmed. “And she's picked Sydney Glass to run against the Saviour, who sounded rather pleased with herself as she put our dear mayor in her place,” she added, truly amused. “Regina has left the station at a march. I predict her arrival in approximately ten minutes.”

“Ha!” Rumplestiltskin barked out. “This will be easier than I thought. You've made sure it will be impossible for Regina or Sydney to find Emma's record?”

“They'd have to hack _my_ computer for that information,” Belle said with dark pride. “I added extra layers of code to Emma's files that will prevent them being found, and even more layers to keep them from being opened. Sydney will be lucky if his computer will turn on if he tries to dig into her past further than her credit history or her various billing addresses for the past ten years.”

“I do love that Elvira French was a distance student of MIT before I hired her,” Rumplestiltskin purred with a smile. “It comes in so very useful.”

Belle snickered in agreement. “Yes,” she said, “though lately I begin to fear that I will know too much, and my head will burst with all the knowing.”

“My dear, I have lived for more than three-hundred years,” Rumplestiltskin reminded her. “My head has yet to burst from knowing too much, and I remind you, I discovered much original knowledge, as well as learned a great deal of that which was already known.”

Belle smiled softly at that, proud of her master, though she had little to do with any of his accomplishments save recording them.

“And you still haven't learned how to spin,” Rumplestiltskin added wryly.

“Likely I never will,” Belle answered with a laugh. “Nor shall I weave, though I did once ask for a loom. I never did enjoy needlepoint.”

“You only wanted the loom because you wanted a cloak made of my spinning,” Rumplestiltskin reminded her wryly, though a fond smile danced about his eyes. “And I made it for you myself, rather than setting you to make it. It was the first time I'd touched a loom in centuries, I'd quite forgotten how much I enjoyed weaving, but spinning was what helped me to forget...”

“It was a wonderful cloak,” Belle recalled fondly, then sighed at the loss. None of their clothing had come into this world when the curse brought them. Her fine cloak, and her master's exquisite leathers, were lost to them now. Though, for some reason, Regina had some of _her_ dresses stashed in her vault beneath her father's crypt.

“Put your computer away dearie,” Rumplestiltskin instructed softly. “Make sure all the cameras and microphones in the shop are recording first though. We're going to have quite the show here soon, and I want to be able to watch it back later.”

Belle giggled happily and slipped into the legal office attached to the shop.

Right on time, Regina marched into the shop. The bell practically clanged at the abuse she exerted upon the door as she shut it firmly behind her and turned the sign to say 'closed'.

“Regina,” Rumplestiltskin greeted pleasantly. “Shall I have Miss French move some things?” he offered. “Make a bit of space for your rage?”

“You found that loophole in the town charter,” Regina recognised, and though she was smiling, she was clearly unhappy.

“Legal documents, contracts, if you like,” Rumplestiltskin quipped lightly as he walked out from behind the rear counter to one of the display cases. One that held a collection of daggers. “Always been a fascination of mine,” he admitted freely. “But then, I am a lawyer, as well as everything else.”

“Yes, you love to trifle with technicalities,” Regina grumbled from where she stood, weight on her arms as she leant on the counter that Rumplestiltskin had just left. She deliberately didn't look at him though.

Belle smiled to herself as she moved down the opposite side of the store.

“I like small weapons, you see,” Rumplestiltskin said freely as he gazed down at the dagger collection. “Though larger ones have their places,” he offered, and turned to look at Regina. “The pen, the fine point of a deal, that's much more my preference.”

By this point, Regina was sneering over her shoulder at him from where she stood.

“Subtlety,” Rumplestiltskin summarised lightly, and moved on passed the daggers. “Not your style, I know,” he added.

“You're a bastard,” Regina declaimed as she fully turned to keep him in view.

Rumplestiltskin laughed softly. “I think your grief's getting the better of you, Regina,” he teased falsely. “Shame what happened to Graham,” he said – and he meant that, but he was in no way offering the woman who had once been his student any sympathy.

“Don't you talk about him,” Regina ordered, finger pointed and all as she marched across the room to confront him. “You know nothing.”

“What is there to know?” Belle asked curiously. “He died, and _I_ handled the funeral.”

Regina snapped around to glare at Belle. “Are you,” she said, and returned her gaze pointedly to Rumplestiltskin, “really going up against me?” she asked.

“Not directly,” Rumplestiltskin answered easily. “We are, after all, both invested in the common good. We're just picking different sides.”

“Well I think you picked a really slow horse this time,” Regina decided, her calm returning to her as she fingered the edge of the display case and pretended to consider the trinkets within. “It's not like you to back a loser.”

“She hasn't lost yet,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out.

“She will,” Regina answered, sure of herself.

“I hope that isn't an implication that you will be rigging the vote,” Belle quipped from the other side of the room. “Who will be counting the ballots when the vote is made?”

Regina sneered. “The nuns have agreed to do that, actually, in exchange for a little donation,” she admitted freely. With every prior election having been unopposed, there wasn't anybody whose job it was specifically to count votes, but the whole town could trust the nuns to be honest about the matter. They'd probably count the whole lot five times to make sure they hadn't messed up. “And I won't need to rig the vote,” she attested.

“We'll see,” Rumplestiltskin said. “Never underestimate someone who is acting for their child,” he advised softly.

“He's _not_ her child,” Regina protested instantly. “Not legally,” she added with a pleased smirk.

“Ooh,” Rumplestiltskin breathed, pleased to have gotten under Regina's skin. “Now who's trifling with technicalities?” he asked happily.

The smirk slipped away from Regina's face, and just as violently as she had marched into the shop, she now marched out of it.

Across the shop, Belle and Rumplestiltskin smiled the smiles of conspirators at each other.

“Tea?” Belle asked happily.

“Yes, I rather think so,” Rumplestiltskin agreed.

~oOo~

“This might well be the first time anybody running for the office of a public servant in this town has actually had any competition,” Belle commented as she set the newspaper down on the counter. Another day, another lunch at Granny's, another edition of _The Mirror_.

“Sure is going to be interesting,” Granny agreed.

“Who are you going to vote for?” Ruby asked Belle curiously as she set a fresh filter into the coffee machine.

“I'm going to vote for the woman I saw stare down Mr Gold,” Belle answered with a smirk.

The whole diner halted – and it was the lunch rush.

“She -! Emma did -? When?!” Ruby spluttered, wide-eyed and shocked.

Belle smiled serenely. “Mr Gold didn't let Ashley keep her baby out of the goodness of his heart, and I'm not the one who changed his mind. I mean, I'm fairly sure he gave her the money she was listed to receive in the contract for my sake, but don't quote me on that. The best I could do directly was convince him that Ashley's baby be given to Marco. You know that he'd have taken Ashley in as well, if Mr Gold presented the man with adoption papers for her baby,” she said. “Sydney can't even look Mr Gold in the eye on rent day. Whereas, as I've already said, Miss Swan  _stared him down_ .”

It was a slight over-exaggeration, but it would get tongues wagging throughout Storybrooke – Emma Swan wasn't scared of Mr Gold! That made the list of people who weren't afraid of the man exactly two strong (not including the man himself), and Miss French was the only other person on that list. It wasn't widely spoken of, but everybody knew that even Mayor Regina Mills didn't dare offend Mr Gold.

She might butt heads with the man, might oppose him now and then, but she never dared to actually offend him – and it was well known that, on the rare occasions he was polite with her, she always,  _always_ did what he asked/told her to, even if it was blatantly obvious she didn't want to.

“And... how does Mr Gold feel about you voting for Emma?” Granny asked cautiously.

Belle laughed. “Oh, he's going to vote for her as well,” she assured the old woman easily. “You don't think he'd vote for Sydney to be made sheriff when that man can't even look him in the eye for two seconds together, do you?” she asked wryly.

“No, I suppose not,” Granny agreed thoughtfully.

A bit later – in the evening, but before the nine-to-five businesses started closing – there was a fire at City Hall. Neither Belle or her master went with the crowds to watch the small blaze. They had books to review and there was dusting and sweeping to be done. It was a terrible mess though – City Hall, that is. There were so many flammable things about the place lately, what with the construction going on there. It was a wonder, really, that someone taking a cigarette break hadn't caused a fire much sooner – and now there would need to be more repairs made, and the construction crews would have more work to do.

As it was, well, setting up that particular blaze had been a delicate matter. The lanolin-covered cloth, the lighter, making sure there would be a good little boom when the right door was opened, but at the same time not causing too much damage... And getting it done between the time Emma entered the building (which was a little after everybody else save Regina had left) and when the pair of them were headed out, then getting away completely unseen – that was the hard part. Most especially since Rumplestiltskin insisted that Belle only give him aid insofar as telling him when to go. Her hands would be clean in this.

Now he just had to clean his hands of the greasy smears left when he'd lit the lanolin.

The door slammed open, just to be slammed shut again even more fiercely.

“I hope you're not trying to break my poor little bell,” Rumplestiltskin quipped as he buffed his nails a bit with the cloth. Lanolin was good for more than just waterproofing and catching fire, after all, and he'd gotten some of that on his hands along with a little soot from lighting it.

“You set the fire,” Emma accused as she marched in, a twist of burned rag in her hand.

“I've been right here, Miss Swan,” Rumplestiltskin objected neutrally as he set down his rag, took up his cane, and walked around to the other side of the counter. He wanted at least some little barrier between himself and the blonde woman. Not from fear, as such, but simply because she looked ready to hit something, and he'd just as soon it wasn't him.

“Take a whiff,” she instructed as she tossed the rag onto the counter before him. “It smells like your sheep oil. Turns out it's flammable.”

“So are a lot of the solvents being used by the construction crew that are working at City Hall at the moment,” Belle put in as she delicately picked up the twist of burnt cloth and dropped it in the waste basket.

“Why did you do it?” Emma demanded of the quietly smiling gentleman, her voice a low rasp of barely restrained fury.

“If,” Rumplestiltskin said firmly. “If I did it, then that would be because you cannot win this election without having some outstanding quality,” he suggested.

“Like saving the mayor from a fire?” Emma nearly yelped in her incredulity. “How did you even know I'd be there? No -” she cut off, a hand snapping up, palm out, to forestall any crazy answer she might get. She turned on Belle. “Big Brother, right?” she asked lowly.

“Unfortunately, City Hall is one of those very few parts of town that Mr Gold doesn't own in some way,” Belle said with a pout. “Therefore, he can't fill it with as many surveillance cameras as he likes. Not like the sheriff's office.”

“You have surveillance cameras in the sheriff's office?” Emma repeated lowly.

“Technically, I provided Graham with a security service, so that he wouldn't have to stay in overnight to watch whoever he had in the cells,” Rumplestiltskin explained pleasantly. “I've offered to Mayor Mills to set up a security system in City Hall as well, but she has continued to turn me down every time. I'm sure she'd be interested in preventing a repeat of this, however, so I'm sure I can talk her into setting up a security system there at last.”

“I guess that explains how the paramedics knew to show up at the station when Graham died,” Emma allowed unhappily, “but that still doesn't explain how you knew I'd be there at the right time.”

“Maybe I'm just intuitive,” Rumplestiltskin offered lightly. “Were I involved,” he added firmly.

“I could've run and left her there,” Emma pointed out.

“Not the type,” Rumplestiltskin and Belle both said at the same time, and with equally knowing little smirks on their faces.

“I can't go along with this,” Emma informed them frankly.

“You already did,” Belle pointed out.

“It's just the price for election dear,” Rumplestiltskin added.

“A price I'm not willing to pay,” Emma said firmly. “You can find another sucker.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled and leant forward across the counter. “Then expose me,” he invited her in a whisper. “But do take a moment to think, Miss Swan,” he advised as she turned away from him and began to walk to the door. “All actions have consequences, after all. Just what exactly would you be exposing? What would you be walking away from? Who you would be disappointing?”

Emma gave him only the briefest look over her shoulder as she opened the door to leave, and oh but it was so full of spite, and then she as gone, the door slammed shut behind her. The poor bell abused again.

“It's going to work,” Belle noted with a detached softness.

“Did you ever doubt, m'dear?” Rumplestiltskin asked quietly, his dark eyes still fixed on the door of his little shop.

“No,” Belle answered at once, utterly honest. “You're the one who planned it. I never doubt you and your plans. Ever. I know better. I just... like to gloat a little on your behalf, I suppose.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled a little at that.

~oOo~

Leroy had saved a seat in the hall for Elvira, and by default, that meant he'd had to save a place for Mr Gold as well – because the girl was so dedicated to her boss. The seat was near the back of the hall, but not at the very back, and by the aisle that was down the centre, which allowed enough space for Mr Gold's cane.

“Whatever did I do, to be extended such consideration?” Mr Gold asked Leroy, curious, as he sat down.

“You didn't stop Elle from arranging Graham's funeral, and with your money I'm guessing,” Leroy answered, though it was slightly grudging. “He may have been arresting me for drunkenness every other day, but he was a good sheriff. Cared about people. You did good by him.”

“Don't mention it,” Mr Gold said seriously.

“No one but Elle would believe me anyway,” Leroy answered simply, and extended a smile to the young woman who sat between them.

Elle smiled as she settled comfortably into the chair between two of the least popular men in town – Mr Gold for the fear he inspired, Leroy simply for his general bad attitude.

Archie welcomed everybody to the debate, tried – and sadly failed – to make a joke, and then invited Sydney to make his opening statement.

“I just want to say, that if elected, I want to serve as a reflection of the best qualities of Storybrooke,” Sydney said with a slightly nervous smile as he stood at the podium that had been set up on the stage. “Honesty, neighbourliness, and strength,” he recited. “Thank you.”

There was a smattering of limp applause for him. He might be able to represent honesty and neighbourliness, maybe, but in no way was Sydney Glass a strong man – and the whole town knew it. They knew he struggled with 'neighbourliness' as well, unless the neighbour he was talking about was Regina. As a person who ran the local paper, he was at least somewhat practised in 'honesty' – though it always had an angle with him.

Sydney retook his seat, and Archie invited Emma to speak.

“I could make all sorts of pretty speeches,” Emma offered. “But I'm not going to. I could say that actions speak louder than words, but here’s the thing – the fire was a set-up,” she informed the congregated masses.

Much to their shock.

“Mr Gold offered to support me in this race,” Emma revealed, “but I didn’t know, when he said that, that meant he was going to set a fire. I don’t have definitive evidence,” she admitted, “but I’m sure.”

People were all turning to their neighbours in their seats and whispering, things like 'what' and 'did you know' and 'who would have thought'.

Leroy, beside Elle, shot her a look of near-betrayed enquiry.

Elle said nothing. She didn't even see the look. Her eyes, just like Gold's, were fixed solidly on Emma at the front.

“And the worst part of all this was,” Emma hesitated, “The worst part of all this _is_ ,” she corrected herself. “I let you all think it was real, and I can’t win that way,” she decided before them all. “I'm sorry.”

Mr Gold stood from his seat silently, and every set of eyes shifted from Emma, up the front, to him, down the back. Some heads had to turn, but no one wanted to be caught obviously staring after him. They still all watched him leave though. Every last one.

Except Elle. She stayed, the first anybody had ever seen of her not immediately following after her boss when he got up to leave somewhere. Oh, she had her own life as well – she went out with Ruby and the girls from time to time, she took her time to eat her lunch at Granny's before she took Mr Gold's to him at the shop in a takeaway bag. She'd never stayed behind somewhere when he left before though, especially not when they'd arrived together.

When the door had shut behind Mr Gold, Emma also left the stage.

Archie coughed nervously. “Uh, I guess... that kind of puts an end to the debate,” he suggested with a weak little smile. “The voting booths will be set up here in an hour.”

“Elle?” Leroy asked softly.

“Yes, Leroy?” she answered, just as softly.

“You didn't know anything about that, did you?” he enquired.

She shook her head. “He asked me to tell him when it looked like Miss Swan would be going to talk to Mayor Mills, but otherwise...” she trailed off. The implication clear that she'd had no idea about the whole thing. It was a false implication, but that wasn't the point.

Leroy nodded in acceptance. “Uh... he's... he's not going to raise rent, if Emma gets elected, is he?” he asked, concerned.

Elle chuckled weakly. “Not his style,” she declared firmly. “Especially when he's still going to vote for Miss Swan himself, even after that.”

“What? Why?” yelped the person sitting behind them – and listening in.

Elle smiled. “Mr Gold doesn't like people,” she started.

There were several snorts from around her – people who thought that was rather an understatement.

“He's got a low opinion of people,” Elle clarified. “He doesn't think of himself as a 'good' person, and holds people who do think of themselves as 'good' in contempt, mostly. But people who _he_ sees as 'good', as having real worth to them, he'll respect them for that. Mr Gold respected Sheriff Graham, that's why he let me take the time to organise his funeral. Miss Swan has Mr Gold's respect as well. Besides, she's better qualified for the job than Sydney. She's got the hero-thing going for her,” Elle quipped with a cheeky grin.

“What about the Mayor?” another person asked curiously. “I mean, we all know Mr Gold respects you, but what's his take on Mayor Mills?”

Elle bit back a giggle. “She has his tolerance,” she answered. “And little else. Now, if you will excuse me, I'd best go after my boss. He'll be needing a cup of tea, if I'm any judge.”

“Take care of yourself Elle,” Leroy urged gently.

Elle smiled, and a hand went up to fiddle with a pendant that she'd recently started wearing around her neck. “I can handle his moods,” she assured him. “But thanks all the same.”

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin smiled in satisfaction as he watched Belle hang Graham's jacket in the Sheriff's office once more. Emma had won the sheriff's badge, and was due into the office any minute. The jacket was a little 'congratulations' gift.

“Shit!” came the soft, breathy exclamation.

There was their lovely new sheriff now.

“Just delivering the sheriff's jacket,” Belle chirped, and gave the leather one last, fond stroke where she'd hung it.

“I thought you might want it after all,” Rumplestiltskin offered.

“You two do know I'm armed, right?” Emma asked them as she set a folder down on what was now her desk.

“Just part of the act dear,” Rumplestiltskin said with a smirk. “Political theatre at its finest.”

“With a proper stage and everything,” Belle quipped with a small smirk of her own.

“You'd have gotten a few votes from your friends, but you wouldn't have swayed the masses unless you had some extraordinary quality,” Rumplestiltskin elaborated. “And I'm afraid saving old Regina's arse from a fire just wasn't going to do that,” he added pointedly.

“Nor the memory of saving Henry and Archie from the unstable mines,” Belle added. “You needed to have a higher form of bravery than going into danger and rescuing people, ludicrous as that might sound.”

“Miss French put the buzz out that you weren't afraid of me, but too few would believe it. They had to see it. They had to see you defy me,” Rumplestiltskin explained with a savage little grin that let his golden tooth catch the sunlight.

“No way,” Emma denied, her blue eyes wide in her face. “There was no way you planned that.”

“The populace at large is afraid of Regina,” Rumplestiltskin allowed as he settled his hands comfortably on the handle of his cane. “But they're more afraid of me. By standing up to me, you won them over. It was the only way.”

“You knew I'd agree,” Emma realised, just a tad horrified.

“Oh yeah,” Rumplestiltskin said, supremely satisfied with how things had turned out. “I know how to recognise a desperate soul.”

“Why did you do this?” Emma asked cautiously, wary of the answer that she wasn't sure she actually wanted to hear.

“Because, you may recall, we made a deal. You owe me a favour. A favour from Sheriff Swan is likely to be worth more than a favour from Miss Swan,” Rumplestiltskin answered with a smile.

“And it pisses off Regina,” Belle added. “Any day we can do something that gets under her skin? That's a good day.”

“Have yourself a good one, Sheriff,” Rumplestiltskin bid. “Come along Miss French.”

“Yes Mr Gold,” Belle answered at once. “See you later Sheriff.”


	9. Chapter 9

Belle was always careful to monitor any interaction between Henry and Emma, just in case he asked about his father – as per Rumplestiltskin's standing orders from the day Belle had done the full background check on their Saviour. The day had finally come.

“ _Can you tell me about him?”_ Henry asked, his voice a little tinny through the audio equipment that was part of the 'security' surveillance set up in the sheriff's office.

“ _I don't know anything yet,”_ Emma answered. She was currently trying to find the missing father of twins, brother and sister, who Henry had figured out from his story book were Hansel and Gretel.

“ _Not their father,”_ Henry corrected. _“Mine. I told you about your parents,”_ he pointed out. _“And now, you're even living with your mom.”_

“ _Mary Margaret isn't -”_ Emma started, only to cut herself off. _“She's... never mind,”_ the blonde grumbled softly.

“ _Please?”_ Henry begged.

Belle's heart broke for the kid, really it did, with that hopeful little whine in his voice. She picked up her phone with one hand while she sent off the pre-prepared email with the other.

Emma had just opened her mouth – either to admit the truth or tell a pretty lie – when the ringing of the station's landline cut her off.

“ _Hello?”_ Emma asked.

“If you lie to that boy, and he finds out you lied – and I will make sure that he does if you do – then it will hurt him so much more than the truth,” Belle informed the other woman frankly. “He gets enough lies from Regina.”

Emma winced.

“By all means, omit all you like, gloss over details, but if you outright _lie_ to Henry over something as important as his paternity, then I will be forced to discount you from among my friends, Sheriff Swan,” Belle said firmly.

“ _Gotcha,”_ Emma agreed reluctantly, and clicked off her phone.

“ _Emma?”_ Henry asked when he thought she was silent and thoughtful for too long for a conversation where she'd only said two words.

“ _Nothing for you to worry about Henry,”_ Emma assured her son. _“So... your dad.”_

Henry perked up.

“ _His name was Neal Cassidy. I was young and stupid, and I never saw him again after I was sent to jail. He never even knew I was pregnant,”_ Emma admitted shortly. _“Sorry Kid.”_

“ _So he doesn't know about me,”_ Henry said.

“ _No.”_

Henry's shoulders heaved, a clearly disappointed sigh.  _“Thanks for telling me anyway,”_ he answered.  _“Emma... Did you love him?”_

Emma froze up. A hand rose to fiddle with one of the two necklaces that she perpetually wore. She glanced at the phone on the desk beside her, as if afraid that it would ring again.

“ _I still do,”_ she admitted. _“But I'd probably slap him before I kissed him if I ever saw him again. He did break my heart, after all.”_

Belle smiled to herself, just a little sadly. She was completely satisfied with the way that conversation had gone.

~oOo~

Proof that Emma Swan worked fast when she was on a case and determined to see it through to the end came when, not even an hour later, she entered the pawnshop with a purposeful stride.

“Sheriff Swan,” Rumplestiltskin greeted with a smile, and set aside the cloth he'd been using to polish a lamp on the counter. Lovely thing with a stained-glass shade. “How lovely to see you. I'm flattered you could take time off your busy schedule to see me,” he said happily. “Tea?”

“I'm on the clock Gold,” Emma answered seriously.

“Ah, not taking time off to see me then,” he recognised, and his friendly smile slipped away in favour of the professional businessman. “What can I do for you?”

“I'm looking for information on this old compass,” Emma stated, and withdrew the item in question from her pocket.

Rumplestiltskin shifted the cloth he'd been using for polishing so that it lay flat on the counter, and gestured for her to set the item down there.

“Any idea where it could have come from?” she asked, hopeful, as she carefully set it down.

“Well it's not American, I'll tell you that for nothing,” Rumplestiltskin said as he looked down at the piece. “Look at the detail,” he urged, and showed himself in that moment to be a man who was passionate for such things – for details, for curiosities – as he carefully picked it up. “This is crystal, this jewelled setting, though it is in rather unfortunate shape,” he lamented softly. “Truly a unique and unusual piece. The person who bought this had taste.”

“And where would something like this be bought?” Emma pressed, though it was clear she was sure she could make a damn good guess at this point.

“In this town?” Rumplestiltskin queried rhetorically, as he gently set the compass back down on the display case between them. “From me.”

“You know the piece then,” Emma determined, eager for answers.

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “Indeed. Such a fine thing, it's difficult to forget,” he confirmed. “Even for an old man like me,” he quipped lightly.

“Do you happen to remember who bought it?” Emma asked hopefully.

“Well, I'm good with names, Miss Swan, but maybe not as good as I used to be. I could point out his face more easily, but I don't think you'd care to drag me around town just to find this person,” Rumplestiltskin said as he took up his cane and moved around his shop to the small set of drawers that had cards filed in. Cards with details on who bought or sold an item in his shop. None of the records were as comprehensive as his memories, but they did help for putting new names to old faces. “However, I do have quite extensive records, which Miss French maintains meticulously,” he said with a smile.

Oh yes, he remembered who had dealt with him for the compass, broken though it appeared to be now. If it hadn't been for the curse, he never would have forgotten, and now that his memory was restored, he would not soon forget again. He had originally given it to a certain woodcutter as his wife lay dying, and it was enchanted to always lead him to his children, or his children to him.

Rumplestiltskin had taken the wife's dying breath as payment for the very fine trinket, breathed into one of his special glass vials. That was a very specific, very dark sort of magic that occurred so naturally. The ultimate payment for the magic of life: death. And in exchange for the very fine compass, he'd been able to bottle it.

Rumplestiltskin had apologised at the time that he could not save the woman's life. She was too far gone for the magic needed to come at any price that was less than the death of another – and he knew the woodcutter by sight to be too good a man to be able to do such a thing. The woodcutter had thanked him for the compass, and that had been the end of the matter for them.

“You have a name?” Emma pressed, her voice shaking the old deal maker out of his thoughts.

Rumplestiltskin opened the little cabinet of sale cards and fingered through them until he came to one certain card, which he withdrew, but did not read from or pass over.

“What's your price?” Emma asked, resigned to the fact that she had to ask, but a hint of a smile on her face too. She was getting used to him, it seemed.

“Forgiveness,” Rumplestiltskin requested.

“How about tolerance?” Emma counter-offered.

“Well, it's a start,” Rumplestiltskin allowed. It was also a great deal more than he'd ever gotten from either of her parents. Oh, they'd utilised his skills, but they'd never actually accepted the fact of him, which is what tolerance was, boiled down. “The compass was purchased by a Mister Michael Tillman,” he divulged.

“Anything else?” Emma pressed.

“On these records? No, just the name, the item, the date and the price paid,” Rumplestiltskin answered. “Though if I have any other business with him, that will be in the legal office,” he offered, and pointed over his shoulder to the black-painted door that led from the shop to the office in question. Quite the counterpoint to the orange-and-yellow curtain that hid the work room of the pawnshop, where repairs were made. “I'm afraid I don't quite remember off the top of my head.”

“Will that cost extra?” Emma asked cautiously.

“I ask only your forgiveness, please,” Rumplestiltskin repeated sincerely. “And if you could see your way clear to keeping up your friendship with Miss French, I know she would greatly appreciate it.”

“My issues with you are with you, not Elle,” Emma stated, then she ground her teeth for a moment, and relented. “Fine,” she decided. “Forgiven.”

“Thank you,” Rumplestiltskin said gratefully. “I know that, when you have a name, you don't really need much else for finding a person. That you're willing to grant me this in exchange...”

“It's just going to speed up the process for finding the guy,” Emma protested firmly. “I've got two kids who need a parent to take them in, or they're gonna get split up by the system.”

The card in Rumplestiltskin's hand abruptly crumpled as his hand – which had been holding it delicately a moment ago – became a fist.

“Sheriff, correct me if I'm wrong, but from what I know of you, you're not the one to bring the attention of social services down on these children,” he said in an almost even tone. But it wasn't, not really. It was carefully controlled, and obviously so.

“Nope,” Emma confirmed, eyes fixed on that fist and feeling distinctly grateful that she could give that answer honestly. “It's Mayor Mills' doing.”

“Sheriff, when we made our deal regarding Ashley's baby, and I said it would be a pity for the child to end up in the system, I was completely in earnest,” Rumplestiltskin said. “If finding their father doesn't work out, then _I_ will take those children in until a more suitable home can be arranged.”

Emma blinked in surprise. “Why?” she questioned.

“Because, despite everything else that everyone in this little town knows, or thinks they know, about me,” Rumplestiltskin said, his expression twisted slightly with a fierce emotion that would not be identified. “I do, in fact, care about the disposition of children. I believe I told you once before that I approximated the roles of social services and adoption agency in this little town. I'm not official though, so Regina by-passes me when it pleases her to do so. Please, tell Miss French I insist she co-operates fully with you in this,” he said, and gestured again to the door to his law office.

“Thanks...” Emma said, clearly thrown off balance by this new side of Mr Gold that she'd never seen before, but she continued through the black door with its golden handle all the same.

“Sheriff,” Belle greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“What have you got on Michael Tillman?” Emma asked at once. “Mr Gold said I'd have your full co-operation,” she added, “in case you didn't hear through the door.”

“I didn't,” Belle said as she rose from her chair at the assistant's desk that was in the room – a smaller one, to the left of the main, room-dominating desk that Rumplestiltskin used on the rare occasions that he had people coming to him for legal aid. “The door is deliberately thick, so that people _can't_ hear through it, and while we have security cameras and microphones in the shop, I don't really watch them from the next room when there are other, more interesting places about town to be spying on.”

“That's how you knew what Henry and I were talking about just before you called,” Emma realised softly. “I know you said you had a security system at the station, but...”

“I can't read lips, Sheriff,” Belle quipped freely, a smile on her face. “Certainly not with the picture quality of the security cameras installed at the station.”

“That's... actually kinda creepy,” Emma admitted. “Any chance of getting those bugs removed?” she asked hopefully.

Belle shook her head. “Sorry,” she answered unapologetically. “Graham liked that he'd be able to talk to himself in the office, and know that someone was listening other than himself. He had whole walls ripped open for the wiring to go in. Whole walls would have to be ripped open again for the wiring to be removed.”

“Well, I suppose at least that means if Regina ever decides she wants a covert conversation with someone in the cells, it's going to be overheard anyway,” Emma decided. “But, uh, Michael Tillman,” she requested again.

“A silver lining. Here,” Belle said, and pulled out a folder. “What do you need it for, if I may ask?”

“I need to find him and convince him to take in his kids, that he probably doesn't even know are his,” Emma explained as she accepted the folder. “The mayor has ordered me to take them to Boston social services, but they'd be split up. I don't want to do that to them.”

“Mr Gold won't let it happen,” Belle attested firmly.

Emma blinked. “So... you know what's going on with him there?” she questioned.

Belle hesitated, raised a hand to fiddle with her amulet. Really, it wasn't a story that should be told to anybody, not really, and not by her. It was Rumplestiltskin's story to tell or not tell. This, however, was the time when Emma was open to knowing it. Probably the only time she would be, and while no one else had ever needed to know... it was important that Rumplestiltskin have the Saviour firmly on his side.

“Mr Gold was a family man once,” Belle admitted softly, forcing herself to stop fidgeting with her necklace as she carefully disseminated a portion of the story. “Wife, son. But she ran off when the child was four, found someone 'more exciting',” she said with an angry, disgusted sneer. “That changed Mr Gold, as you'd expect.”

Emma nodded, with the story so far.

“His son had already been his pride and joy, but then he became his whole life,” Belle continued softly. “As I understand it, everything became a slow downward spiral. The lengths Mr Gold went to for his son... Well, the kid was fourteen when he started to get the idea that some of the things Mr Gold did weren't... well, let's just say they weren't the best choices he could have made, however effective they were, and he was a good kid, his father had taught him to be. Only, Mr Gold wasn't sticking to the morals he'd taught his child, so of course the boy didn't like it. Mr Gold hasn't heard from his son since a bit before the kid was sixteen. I know he's still looking for him though, hoping to apologise for the wrong things he did. The loss of his son hit him hard,” Belle said softly.

“You know the kid?” Emma asked.

Belle shook her head. “He was gone long before I came to work for him,” she admitted freely, and again lifted a hand to her amulet where she wore it around her neck. “And I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anybody else the story I just told you,” she added. “Mr Gold is a very private man, and his history isn't something the whole of Storybrooke needs to know. It took me a very long time to earn his trust enough to get that story from him.”

“He's just the Godfather. Gotcha,” Emma agreed, and flipped open the folder in her hands. “So this guy runs a garage?”

“I take Mr Gold's car to him any time it needs work. It... well, it helps him with the lease, which he pays to Mr Gold,” Belle explained. “Two kids... will probably make things harder for him,” she said, a thoughtful frown creasing her face. “If he does take them, or even if he's just unsure about it because of his financial situation, then advise him to come by the shop. Mr Gold might be willing to make him a deal for something.”

Emma nodded. “Thanks,” she said, grateful, and passed back the folder.

“Good luck,” Belle bid.

Emma gave a quick smile, and then she was out the door into the main floor of the pawnshop again.

“Success?” Mr Gold enquired.

“Yup,” Emma agreed. “Now I just have to talk the guy into taking in his own kids.”

Michael Tillman entered the pawnshop hesitantly a few hours after Emma left, but he had in his hands one hand of each his son and daughter, and they were just as hesitant as they walked in at his sides.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle both smiled at the little family.

~oOo~

It was actually rent day again, that day. That day that just so happened to be exactly a month from when Emma had arrived in Storybrooke. It was amazing how much had happened in such a short time. Rumplestiltskin sent Michael Tillman and his twins on their way, the month's rent forgiven in exchange for a free and thorough servicing of his car the next day. That would be enough, for now, to let the newly reunited family sort out some things. Those two children had been living on their own for a long time though, so they'd probably be able to help their father just as much as the other way around.

Then they closed up the shop and headed out to collect the rent from everybody else. As always, Granny Lucas' B'n'B was their last stop.

Strangely, just as the month before, she was eagerly asking someone their name for her guest book.

“August Booth,” answered the man with a polite smile.

“It's been a long time, Mr Booth,” Rumplestiltskin said, his words announcing the presence of himself and Belle. Just as the previous month, all eyes were suddenly fixed upon him, even if August Booth had to turn to see him. “Twenty-eight years since you were last in the area, if I remember rightly. You were just a young boy at the time.”

Those blue eyes – so full of lies and fear and selfishness – went wide in the man's face.

Granny produced the month's roll of cash, and held it out to him. “It's all there,” she insisted.

“It always is,” Rumplestiltskin agreed pleasantly. He passed it over to Belle, and she counted it.

“No bills stuck together this month,” Belle offered with a smile as she wrapped the rubber band around the wad of cash once more. “The exact amount.”

“Any issues to report?” Rumplestiltskin asked.

Granny shook her head. “Some of the paint needs to be re-done,” she admitted. “The young man you sent to take down the old wallpaper wasn't exactly the most careful. The new wallpaper is lovely though. You have excellent taste, Mr Gold,” she complimented grudgingly.

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “I only picked my favourite from the samples  _you_ chose, Mrs Lucas,” he countered. “Give any receipts to Miss French. I'll see that you're reimbursed the costs of the paint and anything you pay for someone to come and do it for you.”

“Oh there's not much to be done,” Granny protested. “I can do the painting myself. I just needed to let you know it needed to happen.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded in acceptance. “That's fine then. I'll still pay for the paint, so keep the receipts for me,” he instructed her politely.

“I will, thank you,” Granny said with a grateful, professional nod.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle saw themselves out, both of them carefully ignoring the way that August Booth stared at them, his mouth hanging open slightly and his skin pale under his dark, short beard that was probably meant to look roguish and worldly, but really just looked like he hadn't seen the proper use of a razor for the better part of a week or two.

~oOo~

A storm was blowing in, and the sudden chill that came with it meant that Rumplestiltskin was in no mood to leave the house. The cold always,  _always_ aggravated his bad leg. Even when he'd had magic to sooth it, the cold had still made him uncomfortable and less genial than his usually pleasant self. Worse than that, the weather forecast predicted that the storm wouldn't just hit – it would be sticking about. They had a day's advance warning on this one, it was going to be so big and hit them so hard.

“So, I had a crazy idea,” Belle said as she entered her master's room carrying a breakfast tray.

“You certainly did,” Rumplestiltskin agreed as he sat up in his bed carefully. “You entered my room without knocking. I could have been wearing nothing but a towel, or less, even,” he pointed out, not entirely joking.

“I once stripped you of your clothing and set you in a tub,” Belle countered calmly, though a blush rose to her cheeks as she said it. “I doubt your physiognomy changed all that much.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled at that. “No,” he allowed. “It hasn't. What's your idea?”

“You let me secure the shop rather than opening it, make sure the storm won't break any of the windows and get in, then I'll do the shopping and the same here. We can wait out the storm in your cabin,” Belle suggested, and the words tumbled out in a bit of a rush.

Rumplestiltskin didn't answer at once, and that meant that he was giving her suggestion some thought.

“And why, my dear Belle, would I agree to such a thing?” he asked.

“Because your little cabin in the woods is actually easier to keep warm than this great big house,” Belle answered at once. “I thought it might also be nice to... forget about Storybrooke for a little while.”

“Can't do that,” Rumplestiltskin countered. “August Booth needs investigating. I want as much information as we can get on him confirmed, as soon as possible. For example, what he was doing in a certain city a little over ten years ago,” he reminded her.

“Alright,” Belle agreed. “I've got a beginning on him already from when I was doing Emma. I can probably have him at least mostly done by lunch time.”

Rumplestiltskin sighed. “You know there'll be no privacy for either of us in that cabin,” he warned her.

“I do,” Belle agreed. “But only from each other. We will be entirely private from Storybrooke, and as much as we must ease _them_ into the idea of us being a couple, we also need to work on _us_ becoming more comfortable with it,” she insisted softly, and reached out to lace her fingers with his.

Rumplestiltskin squeezed her fingers tenderly, closed his eyes in thought a moment, and finally nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “But I'll close up the house. That will give you more time to check up on Storybrooke's newest arrival before we leave after lunch.”

Belle smiled at that, then bit her lip. Quickly, she leant forward and kissed her master's cheek. It was the way with them. Every little moment of intimacy was precious, and they both felt themselves unworthy of the other, so there was some courage that needed screwing up before a touch was exchanged that was anything more than a holding of hands or a straightening of one of Rumplestiltskin's suits.

He had yet to actually kiss her at all, in fact, and it would likely take a while. He still couldn't always grasp that she loved him, and he doubted daily that she would accept kisses from him, so he didn't give them, though he gave his affection in other ways. His own quiet, more subtle ways – light touches and warm looks.

Looks like the warm, tender expression that Rumplestiltskin repaid Belle's little kiss with, that set her heart aflutter.

~oOo~

Belle couldn't help the smile that spread itself slowly across her face as she entered Granny's to see Emma looming over August Booth with a frown on her face.

“Because you're suspicious,” the blonde said firmly.

Clearly she'd missed the very beginning of the conversation, nevertheless, Belle's smile widened. It was almost going to be too easy.

“Sitting here, out in the open, drinking coffee?” August countered, calm and incredulous all at once, an easy smile on his face. “I wonder what kind of hell I would have raised if I'd ordered a donut.”

“Oh no, Mr Booth,” Belle jumped in with a smile. “You're suspicious because _you_ are the same August Booth who, twenty-eight years ago, found a little girl wrapped in a blanket with 'Emma' on it by the road not far from here.”

Emma's eyes went wide at that, and her jaw dropped.

August merely smiled serenely.

“You're suspicious because, seventeen years later, _you_ arrived in Portland all of three days before that same girl got arrested there, then left as soon as she was behind bars,” Belle continued.

August's smile faded, and his blue eyes slowly started to grow wide in his face.

“You're suspicious because, not long after, you bought a very expensive plane ticket out of the country with cash. Money you didn't have prior to your arrival in Portland, but very close to the amount that was paid for a certain collection of watches. Watches that Emma was framed for the theft of,” Belle persisted.

Emma's expression became one of barely restrained fury, and oh,  _so_ very flat as she glared at the man in the booth of the diner. Her lips were pressed into a thin white line and her gloved hands were balled into fists.

“Mr Booth, tell me,” Belle requested pleasantly, her smile still happily in place. “Why do you carry around a typewriter?”

“I'm a writer,” he managed to get out quickly.

But Belle wasn't finished. “And what, exactly, did you do to Neal Cassidy?”

August did a very fine impression then of a fish out of water, gasping for breath. He worked his jaw, and his eyes were wide, but he really looked like he wasn't getting the air he needed.

Emma, however, finally found her voice. Her anger restrained enough that she could speak without yelling. “Stay away from Henry,” she warned him fiercely.

Belle gave the blonde a polite nod, and turned to Ruby – who had been listening to the whole thing from behind the counter.

“Two BLT's to go, please Ruby,” Belle requested.

“Sure,” she agreed quickly, and hurried off to fetch the order. The only colour in her face was that which was painted there artificially.

And Belle, who was first raised by a stubborn father and a smart mother, and then by Rumplestiltskin himself (with a little help from a younger, kinder Regina during that difficult, transitional period – and no, that was not an intentional pun), was quietly pleased to note that August Booth's standing as a handsome stranger with potentially wonderful stories had been down-graded significantly. He was now the man who  _framed_ the sheriff when she was a teenager, made off with the cash, and to top it all off, did  _something_ to the father of dear, sweet Henry, the little boy that was adored by every person who ever actually had anything to do with him.

Even Regina, in her own twisted way, was truly and utterly devoted to the little boy she'd adopted.

Ruby returned soon enough with the takeaway bag, and Belle traded her cash for it.

“Mr Booth, what is your favourite number and colour?” Belle asked just before she left.

“Uh... seven, and blue, why?” he answered.

“And now she knows everything about you,” Emma declared from where she had taken a seat at the counter, to wait for her cocoa. “Those are the only things she can't find out some other way, apparently.”

Belle smiled slightly, nodded, and left the diner.

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin groaned in pleasure. He and Belle were sequestered in his cabin, the fire was lit, and she'd baked some of her best bread over the fire. They'd shared that for their dinner, along with some bacon that had similarly been cooked over the open fire. Presently, he was laid out on the bed – there was only one in his cabin – and was marvelling at his Belle's magical hands.

“Did I know you could do this?” he asked, his eyes closed and his head back on his pillow as he basked in the sensations she was causing.

“Well, there was the time you were gone for five days and I had to peel you out of your clothing and pour you into the bath with the water,” Belle replied with a smile as her fingers dug into the scar-tissue of her master's bad leg.

“You didn't go anywhere near my leg that day except to divest me of my clothing,” Rumplestiltskin recalled, and a lazy smile lit his features.

“I did massage your scalp, neck, shoulders and arms though,” Belle reminded him.

“Wherever did you learn?” Rumplestiltskin asked from deep within his state of bliss. Weather like this, his leg should be paining him, but here he was, warm and comfortable and happy as slim, clever fingers just drew out the pain with their sure little touches.

“Jefferson gave me a book for my birthday, actually,” Belle admitted with a slightly rueful smile. “I hadn't finished reading it when you got back, but I'd read enough for that.”

“You read a book,” Rumplestiltskin repeated, his tone full of delighted laughter and a tiny bit of self-mockery. He really should have known.

Belle dug her fingers into his calf in just the right way.

“Blessed darkness,” he moaned happily. “I do believe I owe Jefferson a favour,” he decided.

Belle giggled, and moved slowly lower down the leg, tenderly kneading the flesh as she went.

Rumplestiltskin damn near purred.

A loud, desperate knocking at the windows and door interrupted their peace.

Rumplestiltskin balled a hand into a fist and thumped it down firmly on the bed at his side and Belle sighed.

“I'll get it,” she said softly as she gently moved his leg off her lap and rose from where she'd been seated on the edge of the bed beside him. “Don't want whoever is out here to get desperate and break the door down so they can take shelter.”

“I'd take it out of their hides if they did,” Rumplestiltskin growled, his eyes still shut. The angry lines in his forehead smoothed though, when Belle touched her soft lips there and gently squeezed his shoulder in one hand on her way to the door.

“Oh Elle!” Mary Margaret's voice exclaimed, reaching easily from the door to where Rumplestiltskin still lay, eyes shut and denying the existence of any world beyond the one where he'd been enjoying Belle's tender – _loving_ – care. At the sound of the school-teacher's voice though, he grit his teeth in frustration.

“Sorry if we're intruding.” Those words were perfunctorily given and not sincere at all. That, even without it having been a man's voice, would have given away that someone other than Miss Blanchard had spoken them.

Rumplestiltskin's face twisted into a scowl. Charming. Both of them. What were they doing out here, in this weather?

Belle, bless her, voiced his question for him, even as (he knew without looking) she waved the pair inside and shut the door behind them. Keeping the weather out and all.

“Well, we _were_ releasing this North Atlantic dove that I found caught in some plastic netting,” Mary Margaret explained, completely apologetic. “But the gate was closed, so we had to keep going on foot, and...”

“And the fact that the gate was closed, and that the bird's a wild animal, didn't suggest to you that you could have just let it go _there_ and it would probably be just fine?” Belle pressed. “Why do you still have it _now_?” she asked.

Rumplestiltskin smiled to himself at the awkward silence that followed. The smile stretched into a grin at the sheepish little 'um'. Yes, they were intruding, but at least they had been made aware of the full extent of their stupidity.

“Miss French, please eject these intruders as soon as they are dry, and the bird immediately,” Rumplestiltskin requested, not moving from where he lay. He knew perfectly well how much his mere presence discomforted both of these two – and his being at ease while they were uncomfortable would be a minor balm to him for as long as he was forced to endure their presence.

“Yes Mr Gold,” Belle answered immediately.

There was the noise of wings beating, ruffled feathers, and then the door was opened and shut quickly. The bird had been tossed out into the weather.

“And don't share the remains of our dinner with them Miss French,” he added firmly. “Just... get back here.”

“Hey now -” David Nolan began to object, though not nearly as assertively as Prince Charming had in the past.

Belle, however, simply and silently moved to re-take her position sitting on the edge of the bed, and moved Rumplestiltskin's leg back into her lap. This time, she began her attack at the sole of his foot, rather than at his knee.

Rumplestiltskin grunted in surprise, then sighed in pleasure.

“You are guests,” Belle said, and though her focus was on Rumplestiltskin, it was clear just who her words were directed to. “Uninvited and not truly welcome right now. Take what you're offered and graciously, or by all means, feel free to head straight back out into the storm right now and head for your car.”

Mercifully, the pair did leave – though not soon enough, to Rumplestiltskin's thinking, as he had been thoroughly enjoying having Belle completely to himself in the cabin. They stayed two hours (becoming increasingly uncomfortable, despite their slowly drying clothing) before they decided to brave the storm once more.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Belle rose to bolt it shut. That done, she pressed a kiss to Rumplestiltskin's brow before she sat down again, then pulled his  _other_ leg into her lap.

The delicious manipulations of her massage started all over again.

~oOo~

The storm did pass, as all storms do, and the first place that Rumplestiltskin had Belle drive them was not back home, nor was it to the shop. Instead, they headed straight off to the other side of town from the cabin – they headed to the beach. Like Rumplestiltskin owned much of the woods surrounding the town, he also owned a number of the piers and docks, and a good-sized stretch of the beach.

And on that stretch of beach? Well, he'd built a castle for the children of Storybrooke (or at least, for one certain child) to play on. Mr Gold had paid Marco to build it the day that Henry turned five – and Rumplestiltskin would continue to pay the old carpenter to fix it up again any time a storm came through – like the one that Storybrooke had just experienced.

Mr Gold had known, right from the start, that whatever sort of mother Regina turned out to be, the child  _would_ need somewhere to get away from her. The mayor was a very controlling woman, and children needed room to breathe and grow without their parents breathing down their necks. Of course, he hadn't told Henry about it himself. Like the rest of the town (save for his assistant), Henry was scared of Mr Gold.

Miss French had told him about the castle. It had been the boy's secret place ever since. Oh, some people knew about it, but Regina certainly didn't – not yet at least – and no one who cared about Henry was going to tell her.

Rumplestiltskin sighed as he surveyed the site now. This storm had done a real number on the castle. One tower was without its roof, and another had a very dangerous lean, and that was just the obvious damage.

Belle didn't need instruction from her master to immediately whip out her phone and make the necessary calls. They'd done this before, after all. Marco was good at what he did, especially as he had access to tools that Geppetto had never heard of, but the simply-built play-castle wasn't meant to stand up to gale-force winds.

This, however, turned out to be the first day that Henry reached the castle before it had been repaired – in fact, he arrived while the small crew that Belle called in for the job were in the act of carefully tearing down the toppled tower.

“What are you doing?” Henry demanded, horrified, as he dropped his bike.

“Fixing it,” Rumplestiltskin answered.

“Just like we always do when a storm blows through,” Belle added.

“What? But- the curse... Nothing changes in Storybrooke. It's never been torn down by a storm before...” Henry protested.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle both laughed softly.

“Henry, I had this castle built when you were five,” Rumplestiltskin explained. “And in the past, we've always managed to get it fixed up and re-built before you got out of school.”

Henry frowned. “You... what?” he asked, confused.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle traded looks, and she squatted down to look the boy in the eye.

“Henry,” she said gently. “Mr Gold helped Mayor Mills adopt you, but he's known her for a long, long time. He knew her before she was the mayor.”

“Back when she was the evil queen?” Henry questioned earnestly.

Belle smiled. “Even before  _then_ ,” she whispered earnestly. “Back when she was just Princess Regina, daughter of Prince Henry and Princess Cora.”

Henry's eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open a little. He looked up at the imposing man with the cane that was watching the conversation.

He nodded. “Miss French met Regina shortly after your mother married Snow White's father,” he added, just a quiet statement of fact.

“And because we both know Regina so well, we knew you'd eventually want somewhere that could be just yours. So, Mr Gold had this castle built on this bit of beach that he owns, and had me tell you about it,” Belle explained.

“But... the curse. No one remembers who they really are...” Henry protested, a little weakly and a lot confused.

“And at the time, we didn't either,” Belle reassured the boy. “But we still knew Regina.”

“But how do you remember _now_?” Henry pressed, hopeful.

“Henry!” Emma called out.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle both smiled, and Belle stood up straight again.

“Henry, what was the rush?” Emma asked as she drew level with the kid.

“Oh right!” Henry remembered, and ran towards where Marco and a few of Storybrooke's younger, fitter residents were shifting the damaged framework. He dropped to his knees in the sand and started digging.

“Young man, this is a mess right now,” Marco said, and took the hard-hat off his head to set on Henry's. “Safety first, Henry.”  
“Henry, what are you looking for?” Emma asked as she approached carefully.

“My book,” Henry answered.

“Under your mattress wasn't a good enough hiding place?” Emma quipped.

“That's the first place she would have looked,” Henry protested, and finally pulled a red lock-box out of the sand.

“You could have left it with me,” Emma offered.

“That's the second place,” Henry countered, and opened the lock-box to reveal his book. “It's still here,” he said with a relieved sigh. “Good.”

“But potentially water-damaged,” Belle pointed out, a little stern and very concerned about the book. She did love her literature, but that was also a very dangerous book in this world. If that was the book that Henry had figured out everything from, then it had far too much information to just be buried in the sand. “How about,” she offered, “you let me and Mr Gold take care of it?”

“That's a very good idea,” Rumplestiltskin agreed.

“Not going to owe you a favour for that, is he?” Emma asked cautiously.

“Favour enough that I will get to see Henry's smiling face any time he visits to look over it,” Rumplestiltskin answered with a smile of his own.

Henry hesitated, but he did pass the book to Belle.

“Henry!” Regina's voice echoed out over to them as she climbed out of her car. “Henry!”

Belle quickly slipped the book into her computer bag. It was a bit snug, but it fit.

“I've been looking everywhere for you,” Regina said as she marched up to them. “You know you have a session with Archie this morning,” she reminded him firmly as she came to a halt by the rest of them. “I should have known he was with you,” she snapped at Emma. “Henry, car. Now,” she ordered.

“Actually, Mayor Mills, Henry arrived before the sheriff. He was rather concerned about the fate of the castle after the storm,” Rumplestiltskin intervened.

“You let him play _here_?” Regina asked the blonde woman incredulously as she surveyed the ruined castle.

“The storm hit it hard,” Emma defended.

“We can fix it,” Marco attested as he replaced his hard-hat – which Henry had returned to him before running off to Regina's car.

“Can you fix a cracked cranium?” Regina countered in the same incredulous tone. “Because that's what he's going to have if one of these boards collapses under his weight.” The mayor turned on Emma. “You're not thinking about Henry, or his safety,” she said derisively. “Just ways around me.”

“Madame Mayor, I'd appreciate it if you would get off my property now,” Rumplestiltskin requested, his tone short. “I don't like having the safety of one of my holdings questioned. I am aware that, at present, this little castle is in disrepair. It always is after a nasty storm. It will, however, be perfectly safe for the boy to play on again before tea time, I assure you.”

Regina frowned, clearly unhappy about being dismissed, but she did have to get Henry to his appointment with Dr Hopper.

“You built this castle?” Emma asked once Regina was gone.

“Had it built,” Rumplestiltskin corrected. “I'm a dab hand at the restoration of antiques, Miss Swan, but I'm not a carpenter.”

“Why?” Emma questioned. After all, she hadn't heard the conversation that they'd had with Henry on exactly that.

“Because I knew Regina's mother, a long time ago, so I knew what sort of mother Regina was likely to be to Henry when she came asking for my help in getting her a child,” Rumplestiltskin answered.

“Regina's... mother?” Emma repeated, shocked.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled lowly, and Belle bit back a smile.

“Yes, even Regina has one. Cora. Nasty piece of work,” Rumplestiltskin offered. “Worse, even, than Regina.”

Emma grimaced. “Well, I guess she had to learn it from someone,” she allowed.

Belle and Rumplestiltskin shared a look at that. A look that spoke volumes, but was only understood by the two of them.

“Indeed,” Rumplestiltskin agreed softly.


	10. Chapter 10

Belle's phone sounded off, the designated ringtone letting her know that it was Emma Swan calling her. Belle was, at that moment, busily going over the emails that she'd neglected while she'd been out at the cabin with Rumplestiltskin during the storm. One of them was from Neal Cassidy.

“Since my phone sang Frank Sinatra's _My Way_ , and not Peter, Paul and Mary's _If I Had A Hammer_ , I'm guessing you're not calling me in your official capacity, Miss Swan,” Belle said with a smile as she wedged her phone between her ear and her shoulder.

“ _...Not sure, actually,”_ Emma admitted from the other end of the line, clearly having decided to just not comment on the songs Belle had chosen for designated ringtones. _“Definitely not calling you from the office though,”_ she allowed. _“I need a second opinion.”_

“Where _are_ you calling me from, Miss Swan?” Belle asked. “Regina does have her own little spies all over town. Not as efficient as my system, but she's still irritatingly well-informed sometimes.”

“ _My bug,”_ Emma answered. _“Which I've actually driven out to the beach to make sure I'm not going to be overheard.”_

“Suitably cautious,” Belle recognised with a smile. “What's the problem?”

“ _I was complaining about Regina a little to Mary Margaret earlier,”_ Emma started. _“In Granny's diner, over a late breakfast. When she left, Sydney Glass took her seat. Offered to help me expose Regina to the town.”_

“A set-up if ever there was one,” Belle commented. “Sydney is hopelessly devoted to Regina. If he's offering to help you 'expose' her, then what he's really doing is setting you up for a fall.”

“ _That's kinda what I thought,”_ Emma agreed with a heavy sigh. _“Thanks. Damn.”_

“You wanted it to be a genuine offer?” Belle guessed with a wry cant to her lips.

“ _Woulda been nice,”_ Emma admitted.

“Well I'll let you know if I find something you could lock her up for, but Regina's excruciatingly careful about her few shady dealings. I advise you maintain the moral high ground and a safe distance,” Belle offered.

“ _Thanks,”_ Emma answered. _“Um... Uh, I want to ask you something, but I'll probably regret it,”_ she said.

“Regret asking, or regret not asking. Not a lot of really great options,” Belle noted.

“ _Yeah... Um. Neal Cassidy,”_ Emma said. _“You said something to Booth about him...”_

“I only had conjecture at the time,” Belle admitted. “A theory. But I've contacted Mr Cassidy and he has recently sent a frustratingly vague email back where he does admit to having been very strongly warned away from you by our mutual acquaintance.”

“ _And by 'strongly warned', you mean 'threatened', don't you?”_ Emma asked, her voice a distinctly unhappy growl.

“Quite possibly,” Belle agreed. “Shall I invite him to Storybrooke?” she offered.

On the other end of the line, Emma snorted.  _“Sure,”_ she agreed.  _“That's one way to piss of Regina at least, I guess, even if it's not what I was hoping for. Besides... it's past time I reconnected with Neal, got some answers, buried the hatchet... possibly in his chest. He's... not still stealing stuff, is he?”_

“No,” Belle confirmed, even as she withheld laughter. That quip about burying the hatchet in a person's, well, _person_ , was rather like something her master would have given voice to. “He's got a legitimate job now. Nothing too exciting though, just a regular office drudge.”

“ _Okay,”_ Emma said. _“I guess he's got to give them two weeks notice though, even for just a bit of leave.”_

“Probably,” Belle allowed. “Emma?” she asked.

“ _Yeah?”_

“What are you doing for Christmas? It's next week.”

“ _Well... shit. It is, isn't it? Damned if I know,”_ she admitted. _“Go along with whatever Mary Margaret's got planned, I guess. I'll get her and Henry both presents. You?”_

“Mr Gold and I always have a tree in his living room, and I'll make more food than we'll really be able to eat. We always go to the midnight mass as well. It's the only time Mr Gold goes near the church except to collect rent from the nuns,” Belle answered.

“ _The nuns owe Mr Gold rent too? Wow. He really does own the town.”_

Belle laughed.

~oOo~

For all that, in the rest of the country, Christmas was a big deal – a major marketing coup, a consumerist's dream – it wasn't really much of anything in Storybrooke. Oh, families had their dinners and exchanged gifts, but it was a private affair. Something people conducted within their own homes. Christmas wasn't something that had really existed in the Enchanted Forest, not properly anyway, despite the wishes of the clerics that had churches throughout the land. More people had celebrated the solstices and equinoxes.

They didn't know it, but these were the reasons that no one made a big deal of the holiday in this world either. Not even the nuns did anything more than arrange the midnight mass and make little trinkets that people could buy to decorate their trees, their tables, and their gifts with.

They made an especially good wrapping paper, perfect for tearing into – impossible to actually  _not_ tear into, however careful a person might be. It made certain that the paper wasn't re-used the next year, in any event, which meant that the nuns always sold wrapping paper each new Christmas season.

There was also the fact that the curse kept everybody living roughly the same week over and over again, with very little (if any) variation. Christmas celebration disrupted that tidy little routine, so it got minimised.

But that was by the way-side, and soon enough, so was the holiday. Mother Superior – the same fairy that had once been called Nova, that had fallen in love with a dwarf whose name had changed from Dreamy to Grumpy – had really organised a beautiful midnight mass. The choir sang beautifully.  _The Holly and the Ivy_ to open the night, followed by  _The Gloucestershire Wassail_ ,  _The Boar's Head_ and  _The Sussex Carol_ came after that, then  _In the Bleak Midwinter_ and a solo of  _Ave Maria_ by one little girl to end the night's service.

“That child,” Rumplestiltskin said to Belle as they left the church, “has the voice of an angel. Has she always sung so beautifully?”

“She has,” a different voice answered from behind them. “She's _always_ had a beautiful singing voice.”

“Jefferson,” Rumplestiltskin greeted softly when, upon turning, he recognised the man.

Jefferson tilted his head to one side and looked Rumplestiltskin, and then Belle, up and down.

“It's an interesting thing,” Jefferson said. “Do you know that the name 'Elvira' means 'white'?” he questioned. “Also 'trustworthy'?”

“Then I would say it suits Miss French very well,” Rumplestiltskin offered. “She's the light in my darkness, and I trust her like I trust no one else.”

“And your name, Mr Gold,” Jefferson persisted. “I looked it up in the town files once, just out of curiosity. Darcy. It means 'dark one'. A _very_ appropriate name for you, I'd bet my hat on it.”

“But you're not wearing one,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out with a thoughtfully raised brow as he considered the man in front of him. “And you really look like someone who _should_ wear a hat. A top hat would be my suggestion.”

“Do you, by chance, have one in your shop?” Jefferson asked.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I'm sorry Jefferson, but I don't. I do owe you a favour though,” he said.

Jefferson blinked in surprise at that, quite caught off-guard.

Rumplestiltskin smirked. “So I'll keep an eye out for one for you, if you like,” he offered.

“How do you owe me a favour?” Jefferson asked cautiously.

“I rather reaped the benefits of a book you once gifted to the lovely lady at my side,” he answered obliquely.

“The book on massage,” Belle supplied. “You gave it to me years ago, remember?” she queried, and absently reached up to toy with the amulet about her neck.

Jefferson's eyes lit up and his answering grin was just as insane as it was utterly thrilled. “Yes, I do,” he answered. “No favour owed,” he told Rumplestiltskin. “That book was a birthday gift to your fine keeper, and that is all it was.”

Rumplestiltskin bowed his head. “If you say so,” he permitted. “I'll remember though, if you ever need help with something.”

“Thanks but...” Jefferson looked over at where Paige Grace was being bundled into the family car by Mr and Mrs Grace.

“I understand,” Rumplestiltskin said softly. “Don't worry Jefferson,” he murmured lowly. “No pain lasts forever. It will soon be over,” he comforted, and it was the most he could say out in the open like this, where Regina had ears listening, even if she herself never came to the midnight mass.

“How soon?” Jefferson begged in a hoarse whisper.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “Before next Christmas is my only certainty,” he said apologetically.

Jefferson sighed sadly, but he nodded in acceptance.

~oOo~

Storybrooke didn't really keep snow very well – it may have had a bit of forest on one side, but it had beach and a port on the other, and no sandy beach (however dismal it could sometimes be) really invited the presence of snow that ran deep or stayed long.

That didn't stop the white stuff from coming down though, and it was coming down in a slushing mix of rain and sleet on the miserable day that Neal Cassidy arrived in Storybrooke – a bit later than the earliest projections of his arrival, but cars, road conditions, and the time it took to pack up a life weren't always perfectly predictable things.

He arrived at lunch time, and was clearly grateful to be out of his car, and out of the cold, when he walked into Granny's diner and shook himself out.

Belle looked up from her meal, and smiled at the sight of him. She stood, which of course drew his attention.

“Mr Cassidy,” she greeted as she stepped towards him and extended a hand to shake. “Welcome to Storybrooke.”

“Elvira French?” Neal guessed, and placed his hand in hers.

“The same,” Belle agreed. “Call me Elle, and please, join me,” she invited with a gesture to her table, where her unfinished meal sat.

“Thanks,” Neal said gratefully.

“Ruby? A house special burger, extra pickles, and a large mug of black coffee for Mr Cassidy, please,” Belle requested across the diner to the waitress that had just been about to discard her cloth (she was wiping the counter) and pick up her order pad.

“On it,” Ruby agreed with a smile, and ducked out the back.

“Uh... how did you know I liked extra pickles?” Neal asked.

Belle bit her lip, but she was smiling. “Your credit history, actually,” she admitted. “Burger, extra pickles, is one of the orders you regularly purchase. If you lived off cash, and never used a credit card, then I couldn't have just done that.”

Neal gave Belle a singularly discomforted look. “Right,” he said. “I'm cutting up all my credit cards first chance I get then,” he decided.

Belle scoffed. “No you're not,” she countered. “If you did, then you wouldn't be able to shop online any more, and that's really the cheapest way to get so many things these days.”

Neal grimaced at the accurate observation of the woman across from him, only to quickly morph it into a grateful smile for Ruby when she set his burger and coffee down in front of him.

“So tell me Mr Cassidy, did you quit your job when you came here? Or are you just on leave?” Belle asked.

“You don't know already?” Neal countered.

“I'm good, Mr Cassidy, but not psychic,” Belle replied pertly, and very deliberately didn't look up when the bell over the door sounded again. She'd already noted the figure as it passed the window on its way to the door.

“I quit my job,” Neal answered with a sigh. “Any going around here?”

“I could use a deputy,” a new voice offered, softly, but from right behind Neal's shoulder. “But I'm not sure I could handle sharing an office with you after everything.”

He turned sharply in his seat. “Emma?” he breathed the name like a prayer made by a drowning man who was taking his last gulp of air.

“Neal,” Emma answered him, her own voice tight.

“Sheriff Swan,” Belle greeted with a smile. “Lunch?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed.

Belle looked between the two, and could practically see all the tension frisson in the air. All the words that needed to be said between them, but would not be spoken – at least, not straight away, and certainly not there.

“Well, just remember that Granny's isn't exactly private,” Belle reminded them softly as she gathered up her lunch and stood from her seat again. “But you're fairly safe from Regina unless she or Sydney show up.”

“Regina?” Neal asked.

“The woman who adopted our son,” Emma admitted. “She's the local mayor.”

“Adopted...” Neal said weakly.

“I was eighteen when I had him, Neal,” Emma reminded him shortly. “Eighteen and _alone_.”

Belle cleared her throat softly, pointedly, as a reminder to them both that they  _were_ in public.

“Ruby, my lunch to go, Mr Gold's BLT, and I'll also pay for Sheriff Swan and Mr Cassidy's lunch today,” Belle requested.

“Sure,” Ruby agreed.

“You don't have to do that,” Emma protested at the same time.

“Know that. Doing it anyway,” Belle informed the blonde with a cheeky smile. “You can buy me lunch another day,” she declared blandly, waving off any further protestations.

“So... uh...” Neal started hesitantly as Emma sat down in the seat that Belle had vacated, and Belle herself headed out the door.

~oOo~

Good news travelled fast, especially in small towns like Storybrooke, and it wasn't long before Regina was on a war-path, headed for Mr Gold's pawnshop. Even when the weather wasn't exactly hospitable. She came in literally dripping, metaphorically steaming, and looking a bit more wild than she probably ever had before.

“Why did you do it?” Regina demanded, the words spat, the accusation hurled at Rumplestiltskin before the last echoes of the abused bell faded.

Belle was perched on a step-ladder and dusting the unicorn mobile. Rumplestiltskin was polishing the lamp that had once held Sydney Glass, back when he'd been a genie. Both set aside their tasks slowly, eyes fixed on the very angry mayor.

“And just what are you accusing me of this time, m'dear?” Rumplestiltskin asked carefully.

“You know damn well what,” Regina growled. “When Emma Swan first showed up, she told me that Henry's father didn't even know the child existed. Now he's _here_ , in Storybrooke! Why did you bring him here? Who is he?”

“And what makes you think that I had anything to do with that?” Rumplestiltskin questioned, a crease in his brow to denote confusion.

“Because your pretty little assistant greeted him by name without an introduction in Granny's,” Regina said with angry, deeply unhappy triumph.

“I repeat,” Rumplestiltskin said. “What makes you think that _I_ had anything to do with it?” he asked with a small smirk.

Regina slammed her hands down on the counter, a scowl on her face, then rounded on Belle.

“Surely bringing the biological father here is better than waiting for Henry to decide to go off on his own, again, searching for his other parent?” Belle offered, only half-answering one of Regina's questions. “I was thinking of everybody. With Graham gone, Henry will need another paternal role-model. Who better than his own father?”

Regina glared at Belle, her painted lips twitching as though she wanted to bare her teeth in a true snarl, and a promise of pain and retribution flashed darkly in her eyes.

An impotent promise for as long as Belle wore her amulet, and since she'd rediscovered it in the shop, it never left her throat. Its magic might not be quite as strong as it had been in the Enchanted Forest, but it would prevent anybody from directly harming her. Not that Regina knew that – and she wouldn't be told either.

“And just how is _your_ father, Miss French?” Regina asked, forcing her tone to be pleasant, even as her eyes glinted fire and ice in their depths.

“It's winter,” Belle said with a shrug. “Anybody wanting flowers at this time of year has to buy them, so he's not doing too badly at the moment.”

Regina's scowl returned in force, and she stormed out of the shop once more.

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin called softly. His voice was a little faint, and his eyes a trifle glazed. “I love the way you handled Regina just then,” he breathed as he took in her whole figure, simply awed. “I love you.”

Belle smiled and crossed the room to him. When she reached him, they folded into each other's embrace with a deep love in their hearts.

“I love you,” he repeated as he buried her face in her hair.

“And I love you too,” Belle answered happily, her head rested on his shoulder.

Rumplestiltskin gave Belle a look then of such wonderment. He loved this girl, this woman, his assistant and keeper and the helpmate of his last years in the Enchanted Forest before the curse had been cast. He loved her more than he had ever expected to love anybody ever again, save the love he kept locked up tight for his son, and he had spent so many years, so many decades, three-hundred years and more he had lived his life doing things that he should not (would not, could not) be proud of – just to reach his boy again.

It was incredible to him that anybody could love him. However much he hoped that his son would give him at least a chance to apologise, a chance to try and make things better between them, he did not believe that he deserved love after all this time. He feared the touch of it in his life.

And yet Belle loved him, and he could only bask in the warmth that her love brought to his life.

~oOo~

Henry Mills was a smart boy. He'd figured out, all on his own and with only the very littlest bit of help from the book that his teacher Miss Blanchard gave him, about Storybrooke being cursed. He had also figured out, all on his own and without any help from even the book that could be really seen as substantial, that  _his_ mother was the Saviour.

He didn't know how to enter Mr Gold's pawnshop without making the bell ring though. Not that he was trying to sneak in, of course not, but it was still something he had yet to figure out. Just like he was still trying to figure out who Mr Gold and Miss French were in his book.

“Hello Henry,” Mr Gold greeted with a smile, wide and friendly. “This is a nice surprise. You never come and visit my shop. What can I do for you?”

“I- I'd like to borrow my book back, please,” Henry said, doing his very best to be brave. Mr Gold scared him. He was pretty sure Mr Gold was evil, and he _remembered_ too, which made him even more dangerous. But still... Emma was willing to trust him with protecting his book, so he'd agreed as well, and now he just had to face the man and get it back.

“Miss French has it,” Mr Gold answered easily, readily, and without a hint of deception. “She's in the back right now. Go on,” he permitted kindly with a wave to the curtained door. “Just be careful, alright?”

Henry nodded quickly. “Yes Mr Gold,” he answered, and carefully weaved between the counters and the cabinets and the treasures to the curtain Mr Gold had pointed him to. Then a thought occurred to him, and Henry paused at the curtain. Mr Gold remembered who he was. Henry could just ask him. “Mr Gold?”

“Yes lad?” Mr Gold replied.

“Who... are you?” Henry asked cautiously.

Mr Gold chuckled softly. “You're a smart boy, Henry,” he said. “I really am surprised you haven't figured it out on your own already.”

“I'm not,” Miss French's voice came from beyond the curtain, and she pushed it aside.

Henry stepped back to let her through.

“You're hardly in here at all,” the brown-haired, blue-eyed woman complained to her employer as she held the book aloft, a frown on her face. “This whole mess reads like something the Blue Fairy edited. A portion the good things you did are credited to one fairy or another instead, and most of the rest of your relevant activities are omitted completely, along with two centuries worth of your comings and goings, which are really just as important. I did remove a couple of pages though that, I'm sorry Henry, were simply too dangerous to be left in there. Not specifically because of their connection to us, but just because they were dangerous in general.”

“I thought I already took out the dangerous pages,” Henry said, brows furrowed in confusion, but not anger. He had, after all, already torn pages out of the end.

“The ending,” she agreed with a nod. “But there were pages much earlier that were also very dangerous.”

“How dangerous, Miss French?” Mr Gold questioned lowly.

“Instructions on how to control the most powerful sorcerer in the entire realm,” she answered.

Henry's eyes went wide in his face. That did, definitely, sound very dangerous. How had he missed that?

“That was in there?” Mr Gold asked, his voice hoarse.

Miss French nodded. “It even had a picture of the item needed,” she grumbled lowly. “Definitely edited by the Blue Fairy.”

“Um...” Henry spoke up hesitantly. “I thought the Blue Fairy was good?” he queried.

Both of the adults snorted at that.

“She certainly liked to think so,” Mr Gold agreed darkly. “And that self-assurance that she is doing _good_ keeps her heart from turning black from the cruelty of her actions. Miss French, I need to -” he cut himself off before he could say.

Henry noted that Miss French seemed to know anyway, because she nodded, handed Henry his book, and gently ushered him back to the shop's front door. She turned the sign to closed, and locked it, and then followed him out.

“Mr Gold doesn't want you to see him right now,” Miss French said softly. “Talking about the Blue Fairy always makes him angry. It brings back bad memories.”

“Miss French, if Mr Gold isn't in the book, will you tell me his story?” Henry asked hopefully. “Or maybe yours? I can't figure out who you are either,” he admitted ruefully.

“But where would the fun be for you, if I just told you?” Miss French asked with a teasing smile that had a secret tucked up in the corner of it, and a light in her eye that said she knew a great deal more than she ever told. “Besides, you would have come looking for the book for a reason, right?” she pressed. “I'm sure you've got most of it memorised anyway.”

“I'm gonna show it to... my dad,” Henry admitted, and he stumbled a little over the title he never thought he'd ever actually use.

“And where are you going to meet him?” Miss French asked.

“Emma said she'd show him the castle,” Henry enthused brightly. “That they'd talk for a while, and I should meet them there when I got out of school and had done my homework.”

“And have you done your homework?” Miss French pressed.

Henry grinned. “I didn't get any today,” he answered happily. “So I just decided to go home and get changed out of my uniform, then come and get the book before I went to meet them. Miss French... you remember everything... can you convince Emma? I'm not sure she really believes yet.”

Miss French sighed heavily and halted their walking. She squatted down so that she looked Henry in the eye, and she set her hands on his shoulders.

“Henry, you can slap a person in the face with a mermaid, and if they do not want to believe that mermaids are real, if they instead believe with all their being that mermaids are not real, then they will ask what you mean by accosting them with a giant tuna,” Miss French said.

Henry frowned. “I'm pretty sure Emma would believe in mermaids if we did that though,” he said.

Miss French gave a soft chuckle. “Yes,” she agreed. “Sheriff Swan probably would if we did that. Unfortunately, we don't have any mermaids to slap her with!” she lamented dramatically as she stood once more.

Henry giggled at that. Miss French was funny, and she was brave, working for Mr Gold every day the way she did.

“I'll tell you what though,” Miss French said as they continued to walk. “If Miss Swan and Mr Cassidy agree, and if they will sit and listen as well, then I'll tell you all a story that isn't even in that book, because it's so old and obscure that it was remembered truthfully only by one person in the Enchanted Forest when Snow White was born.”

“Really? So it's not even in the book? Cool!” Henry cheered. “Wait, so how do you know it? You're the same age as Snow White, aren't you?”

Miss French nodded. “I am,” she confirmed. “But I was able to convince that one person to tell me it.”

~oOo~

Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin would have taken himself off to the spinning wheel that he now kept in the back room of the shop. The wheel was his refuge from all else. It let him forget all the painful memories of his past, and he carried so very many.

It was Belle's job to see to it that he had as little pain as possible, even if that just meant making sure there would be no witnesses as he struggled through the pain of old scars that still pulled at his old soul.

“Hey, Elle,” Emma greeted. “What are you going here?”

“Well, Henry came by the shop for his book, and I'm afraid some things were said that brought back some bad memories for Mr Gold,” Belle explained. “He needs some alone time. Shop's locked up even.”

“He didn't... do anything, did he?” Emma asked cautiously.

Belle shook her head. “Just excused himself,” she assured the woman who was starting to really figure out what it meant to be a mother.

“And Miss French said she'd tell us all a story that's even older than the ones in my book!” Henry interjected happily then.

“Yeah?” Emma said, vaguely intrigued. She was willing to hear just about any story at this point, so long as it wasn't another one from Henry's book, and he wasn't trying to convince her that such-and-such a person was some particular character.

“What's the story?” Neal asked, his question directed at Belle.

“Oh, it's a story of fathers, sons, magic beans, and how Peter Pan first came to Neverland,” Belle said invitingly.

“You know,” Neal said, his tone equal parts cautious and curious. “I don't think I've ever heard a story of how Peter Pan actually got to Neverland.”

“Didn't he just fall out of his pram and get lost?” Emma asked, searching through her memories of the little she knew of fairy tales from _before_ she'd come to Storybrooke.

“Nah,” Neal said. “According to the books, that was the lost boys.”

“Which is inaccurate. Pan piped the boys away from their families, or sent his shadow off to kidnap them, so that he could steal their hearts to keep himself from death,” Belle said primly. “But that is not for this story,” she said dismissively, and took a seat on the wooden boards of the castle's raised floor. “Or not yet, at least. This story begins with a man called Malcom and his son. Malcom was a drunk, a wastrel, and he cared for nothing and no one save himself and his own indulgences. So, as soon as his son was old enough, and by that I mean four or five years old, he sold the child to some spinners for coin to spend at the tavern. He left the boy there, not caring a bit for the way his son begged to go with him, to not be left behind. No, Malcom was completely unmoved by the tears of his son, save that he gave the child a doll, quickly made of corn husks, and said _that_ would be friend enough for the boy.”

“Great father,” Emma muttered sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Neal agreed softly. “I can sympathise with the kid.”

“Did Malcom ever come back for his son?” Henry asked.

Belle shook her head. “Malcom hated his son, hated the boy as much as his son loved him, and if Malcom had his way, he would have never seen his son again,” she explained.

“I can't imagine...” Neal said softly as his eyes shifted to Henry.

“Me neither,” Emma admitted. “I gave up Henry for adoption because I loved him and wanted to give him his best chance. How someone could hate their kid...”

“Well, the boy didn't know and couldn't comprehend his father's hatred for him. He was too young to understand it, too innocent to see it. He learned to spin, and worked hard at his craft in the hope that he would make his father proud, earn enough that they could be together again, be family,” Belle persisted with her tale. “But the spinners loved the boy, and would not hide the truth from him. They told him that his father was at the tavern, and that he would not come back for the boy. They told the boy also that the only way to be free of the stain of Malcom's reputation would be if he were to leave. To go far, far away, and they offered to the boy a magic bean, this was back when magic beans were a great deal more common, of course.”

Neal had stilled in that particular way that meant he was holding himself still. Tense and taught, and very attentive.

“I thought that magic beans were always rare,” Henry interjected.

“Oh, no. Magic beans were grown in plenty by the giants, though not near as many reached the human-sized people. These beans were common as diamonds perhaps, but that was common enough for the spinners to have one,” Belle explained. “And they gave it to the boy, and the boy, full of hope, took it to his father. They could go away together, he said. Go to a different world where they could begin anew, start fresh, and _be together_.”

Neal closed his eyes at that, and a slightly pained expression crept across his face, as though he was taken by painful memories of his own.

“Did Malcom go?” Emma asked, her voice low and soft.

“They both went,” Belle answered. “And the magic bean took the father and son to Neverland.”

“Cool!” Henry cheered. “And the boy became Peter Pan?”

“No,” Belle answered softly. “No, he didn't. Malcom did.”

Neal's eyes snapped open. A frown marred every face that was staring back at Belle.

“Wasn't Peter Pan a kid though?” Emma checked.

Belle nodded. “Malcom learned about the ability to fly with pixie dust and wonderful thoughts, but it still did not work for him. He was too old to fly. Then he learned something else,” Belle said ominously. “He learned that he could become young again, and gain the ability to fly. He had to  _believe_ that he was a child again, and he would be so – for that is how magic works in Neverland, with belief – but how could he believe himself a child, if his son was always about?”

“He... he didn't...” Henry protested.

“He'd already done it once,” Neal reminded his son, his voice hoarse. “Remember? Miss French said that Malcom gave his son to some spinners for money. Giving up his son so that he could be young and fly...”

“Not just young,” Belle corrected. “Because time doesn't pass in Neverland the way it does in other places. Malcom would be young for the rest of his days. All he had to do... was abandon the son that he hadn't ever wanted anyway.”

“He did, didn't he?” Neal asked solemnly. “He threw his son away for youth.”

“Even though the boy cried and begged and clung tightly to his father, Malcom only watched, unmoved, as the shadow creature that lived in Neverland dragged the frightened child away. Then he changed his name to Peter Pan, and to my knowledge, he has been in Neverland ever since, save for a few ventures out to kidnap boys for their hearts, so that he wouldn't die,” Belle confirmed.

Henry bit his lip. “Did the boy get a happy ending?” he asked hopefully.

“That's a different story,” Belle denied with a hint of a smile.

“You know it though?” Emma questioned.

Belle nodded.

“Then lay it on us,” the blonde requested.

“The boy returned home to the Enchanted Forest, taken away from Neverland by his father's shadow, and he grew up. He saved up enough money to marry, and for a while he was happy,” Belle allowed. “But then he was sent off to war. He was eager to prove himself as nothing like his father, and he was a good soldier. Loyal, brave, strong, good with a sword... but then a Seer told him that his actions on the battlefield would leave _his_ child fatherless. He had not known he was a father when he left for war. His wife had shown none of the signs of pregnancy when he left to join the army. He knew well the pain of being fatherless though, and he sought to return to his son – but no able man ever left the battlefield while they could still fight.”

“What did he do?” Emma asked softly.

“He hobbled himself,” Belle answered. “It branded him a coward, but he was sent home to his son, who he loved with all of his heart before he had even laid eyes on the babe. His wife's heart turned from him completely for it though. She had never truly loved him, but with this, she began to hate him. She did not know his history, and saw only the shame of being married to a coward with a limp. When the boy was little, she abandoned them both. She'd met some pirates in a tavern, and she decided she wanted a life of adventure for herself. The man went after her, believing the pirates had kidnapped her, rather than that she had gone willingly, and begged for them to release her back to him. The pirates allowed that if he would fight for her, if he could defeat their captain, then he could have his wife back.”

“The guy was lame!” Emma protested. “That's suicide!”

Belle nodded. “He knew that, so with a heavy heart, he returned home to his son, and to spare the boy the pain of abandonment, which he knew so well now for he had felt it twice over, he said that she was dead.”

“This is a really unhappy story,” Henry complained softly. “I thought the Evil Queen took away all the happy endings when she cast the curse. Shouldn't this story have a happy ending? You said that nearly no one remembered it when Snow White was born.”

“Some stories,” Neal spoke up, but his voice was hoarse, and he had to cough to calm it. “Some stories are cautionary tales,” he said. “They're meant to warn us about how horrible the world is if we do or don't do certain things. Those ones rarely have happy endings.”

“There any more of this story?” Emma asked. “Because this guy's life seems to have completely sucked, and even if I don't believe in happy endings all that much, I really kinda want this guy to get one.”

Belle nodded. She told of how the war that the father ran from was not over, and the duke began to conscript children. The man, desperate to save his son – because he had seen battle before he'd hobbled himself, and he knew how terrible it was – tried to run. But they were spotted, and so could not leave. A beggar told the man of a dagger that the duke had, and if the man stole it, then it would allow him to control a great power. A power great enough to protect not only his son, but all the children. He could end the war, if he held this one, single dagger.

And the man, who would do anything he could for his son's sake, stole the dagger, and he claimed the power for himself, and he was able to protect his son.

“Power, huh?” Emma questioned dubiously.

“Magic, specifically. It allowed him to walk without a limp again, and he was suddenly powerful enough that he was no longer afraid of anything,” Belle answered. “Except, of course, that one thing that would always hurt. He feared being left alone. Being abandoned by those he loved. There is no magic that can force people to love, after all.”

“But he got his happily ever after?” Henry asked hopefully.

Belle grimaced. “Not exactly,” she said. “He saved everybody, brought the children home from the war, defeated the ogres they were fighting against, and for a while, everything was good.”

“Lemme guess,” Emma grumbled. “It didn't last.”

Belle nodded in sad confirmation. “As I said, because he had magic, he was no longer afraid. Now that he wasn't afraid, the man became fierce, protective... unforgiving. The dagger was cursed, you see, and all the good intentions in the world have trouble standing up to ancient, powerful curses.”

“The son didn't like it,” Neal stated. “The way it changed his father.”

Emma and Henry both turned to Neal.

“You know this story?” Henry asked.

Neal nodded. “I know some of this part of it,” he agreed with melancholic reluctance. “I didn't know the story about Peter Pan, or _every_ part of what happened with... the wife. But I know some of what comes next.”

“Will you tell us?” Henry asked eagerly. “Miss French, you're a great story-teller but...”  
“You want a story from your papa,” Belle finished with a smile. “I suppose I can understand that. How about I just fill in bits that Mr Cassidy doesn't know then?” she offered.

Henry beamed back happily, and turned hopeful eyes on his father.

“Okay, so... They made a deal, that if the son could find a way to break the curse without it killing his papa, then the father would let it be broken, and the boy went off looking for a way to get his papa back to the way he was,” Neal started. “He went to the Reul Ghorm, a powerful fairy, and asked her for help. She said that the only way his dad would be free and himself again would be if they went to a land without magic, and she gave the kid a magic bean.”

“You're skipping bits,” Belle said, “but I guess skipping over the time that the man rescued his son from Neverland and Peter Pan doesn't mean much,” she allowed. “He only fought through the unforgiving nature of his curse to remember that he would do anything to protect his son, who he still loved with his whole being. Remembering of course that Pan took the hearts of boys to prolong his life, and was his own father.”

“Dedicated dad,” Emma noted. “So the kid's got a magic bean, and wants to start a new life with his dad, just the same way the dad had done when _he_ was a kid... Elle, can we get some names here? It's a little confusing. The only character with a name is Malcom/Pan.”

Belle was silent for a moment, and weighed in her mind telling them the names.

“After he gained magic, Malcom's son became known as the Dark One,” she finally admitted, her master's name carefully protected. “And the wife had named their son Baelfire.”

“So what happened with... the Dark One... and the magic bean this time?” Emma asked, struggling with the title when she would have much preferred a name.

“He broke the deal he made with Baelfire,” Neal said unhappily.

“He got scared,” Belle countered gently. “He'd been through a magic portal before, and it had ripped his father from him, rather than brought them together as he had hoped. He also knew that in a land without magic, he could not protect his son. He would be nothing more than a lame spinner again, and in a new, frightening world. How could he care for his son like that?”

“He let go,” Neal reiterated, shoulders hunched. “Baelfire went through the magic portal alone, and he felt betrayed.”

“While on the other side, the portal closed up after him, and the Dark One at once scrambled desperately to follow, feeling again the pain of being left by one who he loved,” Belle offered.

“Sheesh, abandonment all around then,” Emma noted with a grimace. “That really sucks.”

“Ah, but the father was not what he had been, for now he was the powerful Dark One, and he wanted nothing more than to be with his son again,” Belle declared with all the drama of a great storyteller. “He went to the Reul Ghorm, the same fairy his son had gone to, and he asked her for another magic bean to follow him. Remember, this was in the days when magic beans were only a little less common than diamonds. Still, she said that there were none left to give, and told him – with far too much pride and satisfaction in her voice – that he would never see his son again.”

“Well, she's a bitch then,” Emma muttered under her breath.

“The Dark One would not be deterred though,” Belle continued. “He was determined that he would find a way. He went again to the Seer, the one who told him his actions on the battlefield would leave his son fatherless. She told him that he would, eventually, find his son again. So, even though centuries passed, he never gave up. He is still looking for his son, and wants nothing more than to hold that boy, to know that he is alive and happy, and to apologise over and over and over and to beg for forgiveness, because he found a pain that was just as terrible as the pain of abandonment. Regret.”

For a while, they none of them moved or spoke. Then Emma reached out to Henry and pulled him into her arms. He clung to her. Emma reached out to Neal next, offering her forgiveness in the simple gesture of an arm extended. Neal didn't need a second invitation. He was by her side and with his arms wrapped around both of them in an instant.

Belle silently excused herself and left the little family alone together. They had some issues they needed to hug out, and she needed to check on Rumplestiltskin.


	11. Chapter 11

Storybrooke was a place, a single town – small but expansive at the same time – that held nearly an entire realm's worth of people. It supported their every need, from food to jobs. There were a few farms surrounding the town that supplied fresh produce. Regina's apple tree wasn't the only one in their little county, not by a long shot. It was just the most infamous. Most of the men who had once been clerics worked alongside the transplanted farmers, tending orchards and flocks of sheep, and only the bishop that had officiated Snow and Charming's official wedding still retained his holy post.

Belle bought wool directly from the farmers for her master, and walked away from them with a good-sized box of freshly sheared fleece to be treated however Rumplestiltskin wished before he got to the actual act of spinning.

“Miss French!” a voice called out to her, just as she had set her hand on the brass doorknob of the shop door.

Belle looked up, and smiled. “Mr Cassidy,” she greeted happily. “I thought I told you to call me Elle.”

“Hard to remember when you call me Mr Cassidy instead of Neal,” he countered easily. “But actually, I was wondering, uh, that is... Emma and Henry both said that your boss owns most of this town, so I was hoping...”

Belle's smile took on an amused cant. “Sick of staying at Granny's already?” she guessed.

Neal sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Booth might be okay with staying there for however long, but I want my own place. Somewhere I can have... _people_ come over to visit. I've been looking at jobs around the place too, finally got one, so I figure I can properly afford an apartment now. If it's true that Mr Gold pretty much owns the town, and if I want my own place, I figure he's the one to go to.”

Belle nodded. “That's right,” she confirmed. “Sheriff Swan just moved in with Miss Blanchard, rather than approaching Mr Gold over the matter, but he does have a few apartments standing empty, even if he doesn't advertise them. Come on in,” she invited, and pushed the door open.

“Yeah, and maybe you can tell me how you knew that story,” Neal agreed as he followed Belle into the shop.

“Whatever story it was, I suspect that she probably read it,” Rumplestiltskin quipped from where he was carefully setting an old leather ball that had once belonged to his son in place on a shelf, his back to them. “Miss French is more widely read than anybody I've ever met,” he added as he turned around to face them, a friendly, slightly teasing smile on his face that was instantly directed at Belle.

Neal went stone still, his eyes fixed on Rumplestiltskin's face, then they flickered up to the old leather ball, and back again. He seemed to drink in every detail of the man before him, from the fine suit he wore to the cane he was leaning on, and every single little line on his face.

“I believe that Mr Cassidy is referring to the tale I told him, Sheriff Swan and young Henry of how Peter Pan arrived in Neverland,” Belle admitted softly.

The smile faded from Rumplestiltskin's face. “I can't imagine that to be a story that anyone wants to hear,” he stated, even as he kept his expression carefully neutral. He refused to have the painful emotions overwhelm him. That was the past. The long, distant past. Belle had only gotten that story out of him after she had stripped him and set him in the bath. For such attentive service to him, he had repaid her with the truest display of his trust, the story of how he had learned to spin, and how he had lost his father.

“Would have been good to know it though Papa,” Neal said softly, choking on the words and fighting back tears. “I wouldn't have asked you to leave our home through a portal made by a magic bean if I'd known.”

Rumplestiltskin's breath had caught the moment the title 'Papa' had crossed Neal's lips, and his own eyes glassed up. His lip trembled. His hands shook and he clasped more tightly to his cane to hide it. There had been suspicions, but until that moment, that was all they'd had. There was no knowing for sure. Now though...

“Bae,” he gasped the name, his heart hammering in his throat instead of his chest. “Oh Bae, I'm so sorry. So, so sorry for what I did,” he wept, and indeed, the tears had spilled over form his eyes and were flowing down his cheeks.

Neal stepped around the counter so that he stood nearer to his father.

“I'm still angry,” Neal admitted, voice hoarse and his eyes shining with held-back tears, but he stood straight and maintained a foot of empty space between them.

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “I don't blame you for that,” he answered, his own voice a choked whisper as he held himself perfectly still.

Neal set one hand on his father's shoulder, and stepped up to pull the man into a tight, teary embrace. There were sniffles and Rumplestiltskin dropped his cane to cling to his boy, his grown up boy who he hadn't gotten to watch grow up.

Belle wiped at her own tears. The man she loved was reunited with his son at last, and she was blessed with being privileged to bear witness. Things weren't right between them again yet, but they'd made a step on the road to reconciliation.

Quietly, Belle locked up the shop, turned the sign to 'closed', took the parcel of wool out to the back room, and then slipped into the legal office. Neal had come looking for an apartment, after all. She would make sure everything was ready when he remembered that.

~oOo~

Things had been... peaceful. No, that wasn't the right word. Quiet. That was the word. It wasn't peaceful because there was an underlying tension that just hummed over Storybrooke. Regina was afraid that Henry's biological father would sue for custody – and as he hadn't been involved with the decision to give up the child, he had a much better case than Emma. Neal was working on repairing his relationship with both his father and the love of his life, and building a whole new relationship with his son. He was also keeping his efforts with his father separate from his efforts with Emma and Henry.

At least for now.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle had celebrated, the evening following when Neal had first come to the shop. The Seer was equally right and wrong in what she had told Rumplestiltskin. Much like she had that first time. Rumplestiltskin had been found _by_ his son, rather than finding him. A boy had, in a _very_ round-about way, led his son to him – again, not the other way around. Rumplestiltskin was more than willing to let Henry be his undoing if it was needed.

The boy was his grandson. Family. The child of his child. He would gladly die to keep the boy safe. He'd rather the boy not need saving, particularly the sort of saving that would cost Rumplestiltskin his own life, but if it was needed, then he would do whatever needed to be done without hesitation.

And all this without magic. Magic hadn't been needed, save for the curse that brought them to this land. Magic _wouldn't_ be needed, at least not any time soon. That little bottle of True Love could stay where it was, hidden inside of Maleficent's body beneath the closed-down public library, and she would most certainly keep it safe.

More immediate concerns though were much more mundane. Moe French owed money, and his loan was due to be paid. Furthermore, it was due to be paid by the thirteenth of February, the day before Valentine's Day, and that day had come.

The money, however, had not.

“I've been looking for you, Mr French,” Rumplestiltskin stated.

Moe froze up where he was, half-way between the outside stand of his shop and his van – his van which was the previously agreed-upon collateral for the loan, as it had been what was purchased with the money lent.

“I'll have your money next week,” Moe promised quickly.

“The terms of the loan were specific, Mr French,” Rumplestiltskin countered. “And really quite fair. Next week, Mr French, is not today.” He looked over his shoulder at Belle. “You can drive stick, can't you Miss French?” he checked with a knowing little smirk.

“I drive your car all the time, Mr Gold,” Belle answered calmly, perfectly aware that he wasn't asking because he didn't know. He knew. He was just being theatrical. “Of course I can drive stick.”

“Wait,” Moe protested desperately. “No! Tomorrow's Valentine's Day! It's the biggest day of... I've got a grand in roses in the back! You've got to let me sell them!”

“You owe me more than what they'll bring you, Mr French,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out calmly, and nodded for Belle to move to take the van.

“That's no way to do business Gold!” Moe protested. “Elvira, baby-girl, please!”

“No, Dad,” Belle said firmly as she set her hand on the handle of the driver-side door. “You're the one who doesn't know how to do business You made a commitment to have a certain amount of money paid back, in full, by a certain date. You signed a contract and you failed to keep it. Now you have to face the consequences.”

“You're the lowest Gold,” Moe growled.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “Well, the contract was only for the van, not its contents, I suppose,” he allowed. “So, a grand in roses? I can also see some rather tacky helium balloons. Is there anything else?” he enquired as he withdrew his chequebook from one of the deep pockets of his topcoat.

Moe floundered. “Uh, baby's breath, lilies, and some early-season tulips,” he admitted, eyes suddenly transfixed by the sight of a slim, black leather book in the hands of the man who was taking his van.

“Miss French, please pass your father the balloons,” Rumplestiltskin instructed as he withdrew a pen from another pocket and started scribbling out a cheque. “For the rest... I believe this will cover it, though I'll still be taking the van for you having defaulted on your loan,” he said, and tore the cheque out of the little book.

Belle passed her father the balloons.

Rumplestiltskin passed him the cheque.

“There,” he said. “Now you've sold the flowers. Have a nice day, Mr French. Miss French, I'll see you back at the shop.”

“Yes sir,” Belle answered, and started up the van. She started making a mental list of all the places she'd put the flowers, now that Rumplestiltskin had bought them. Some would go in the house, some in the cabin, and she'd probably give a bunch to Neal to give to Emma.

Rumplestiltskin watched Belle go for a brief moment, gave a last, parting nod to Moe, and crossed the street. He had other places to be.

“Mr Gold. That was quite the show,” Regina noted wryly as she moved to block Rumplestiltskin's way.

“Well, Mr French isn't having the best of days,” Rumplestiltskin allowed. “Happens to everyone.”

“I've been meaning to talk to you about something,” Regina said.

“That's nice,” Rumplestiltskin quipped, and moved to step passed her. “But I'm really not interested in talking to you right now dear.”

“It will only take a minute,” Regina insisted, and shifted to block his way again.

“Oh I'm sure, but you will have to excuse me, please, as I have other places to be,” Rumplestiltskin denied. He smiled to himself as the magic of their bargain, even in this world without magic, held strong once more. Regina was unable to resist when he said 'please'.

~oOo~

Neal was standing by the closed and locked door of the pawnshop when Belle pulled over and parked the van in the street beside the shop.

“Since when does Mr Gold do business in vans?” Neal asked as Belle hopped out.

“Since my father defaulted on a loan, and the van was the agreed collateral,” Belle answered. “He'll get the van back when Mr Gold gets the money owed him.”

“Fair enough,” Neal agreed.

“More than fair,” Belle countered. “Since Mr Gold also signed a cheque for every single flower that still hadn't been unloaded when we took the van.”

Neal whistled lowly, and then did it again when he saw just how many flowers were still stored there, resting in buckets of water or on shelves in prettily wrapped boxes.

“How's anybody else in this town supposed to get flowers for tomorrow then?” he asked with a weak chuckle.

“Oh, Papa had unloaded some flowers,” Belle assured Neal with a small smirk. “But if you want some for Emma...” she offered slyly.

Neal coughed, and a soft blush warmed his cheeks. “I.. uh, I didn't say that...” he back-tracked nervously.

“Uh-huh,” Belle teased, and climbed into the back of the truck. She picked out one long-stemmed, thornless red rose in full bloom. “Give this to her when you _ask_ for a date,” she instructed. Then she moved back into the van and pulled together a bouquet of red and yellow tulips, orange roses and white lilies. “And this when you collect her for that date,” she added firmly as she tied it up with white paper, a red ribbon, and a little card that she wrote the meaning of each flower on. That done, she passed it over, a knowing smile dancing on her lips.

Neal was properly blushing now as he took the flowers. “Thanks,” he said softly. “Uh... could I get another of the long-stemmed ones? For the table? I was thinking of cooking dinner for her at my apartment, rather than going out somewhere.”

Belle's little, knowing smile bloomed into a full-on cheeky grin, and she chose a rose not quite blooming, then grabbed up some baby's breath and a couple of leaves. She wrapped the stems in a rubber band and passed the little bouquet over.

“Thanks,” Neal said again. “I'm... I'm going to tell her,” he said quietly.

Belle blinked. “Tell her?” she repeated. “Tell her that you love her? Tell her about your past? Tell her what?”

“Both of those things,” Neal answered. “Anything in the shop that might, I dunno, back me up?” he asked hopefully.

“I know we have _her_ father's sword,” Belle said softly, as she mentally ran through the stock in the shop and hopped down from the back of the van. She locked it up, then took out her keys and unlocked the door of the pawnshop.

“That probably won't go over too well,” Neal said with a grimace.

“Probably,” Belle agreed. “Tell you what, you go and put the flowers in some water, ask Emma on that date, I'll have a look around for something suitable.”

Neal looked down at the flowers he was holding and nodded in thoughtful agreement.

“Thanks again Elle,” he said.

~oOo~

“What are you looking for?” Rumplestiltskin asked as he closed the shop door behind him.

“Something that Neal can give to Emma,” Belle answered absently as she flipped over another page of the inventory.

“A Valentine's sort of something?” Rumplestiltskin questioned with a smile and a gesture to where some fine jewellery was laid out in one of the cabinets.

“Maybe,” Belle conceded. “But also along the lines of something that can help him prove he's not crazy.”

“Prove he's...” he trailed off, eyes wide as he processed that statement. “Belle?”

The bell on the door jingled behind him, and he turned. There stood Neal.

“Hey Papa,” he greeted softly when the door was shut. “I'm... I'm telling Emma tomorrow,” he declared. “Everything. That my name's really Baelfire, that I love her... that Henry's right on the money with the whole curse situation, and that you're my dad. I'm making her dinner at my place, candle light, roses,” he added with a smile and a nod to Belle. “The works.”

Rumplestiltskin frowned in thought, then hobbled his way across the shop to an umbrella stand that was full of swords. He didn't withdraw a sword from it though. He reached in and pulled out a dagger.

Neal's eyes widened at the sight of it.

“Papa...”

“It's a fake, son,” Rumplestiltskin admitted. “I made seven, actually. Back when we were in the Enchanted Forest. About a month after I had a little chat with Reul Ghorm, in fact. Each one subtly different from the real one, and they're all hidden in different places. Take this one for when you tell her about us and our relationship,” he offered. “I'd happily trust you with the true dagger, but I'd have to go on quite a hike, and then dig it up for you. This one's closer to hand.”

“This is fine, Papa,” Neal assured his father. “I don't want the dagger anyway. I mean, I know it won't really work, since this is a land without magic, but I still don't want to...”

Rumplestiltskin smiled a little at that. “And that's why I'd give it to you,” he said easily, and held out the fake dagger for Neal to take.

“Ah-hah!” Belle yelled, triumphant, and dashed out of her seat. “I knew we had it,” she declared softly as she grabbed a ladder, propped it up, and ascended the wall to open one of the higher picture frames. From behind it, she withdrew a book.

“And what's that?” Neal asked.

“That... is a book of spells,” Rumplestiltskin answered with low solemnity. “Stolen from me and used by Regina's mother, before Regina herself returned it to me. Belle, what are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking that Emma, a child of True Love, has probably got a whole lot of magical potential, regardless of if we're in a world without it or not right now. This is good back-up evidence, along with Henry's book, which she hasn't actually looked through herself yet,” Belle said firmly. “And, in the event that magic ever does come to this world, or we all go back to the Enchanted Forest, then Emma will have a good starting point with this. I've already pulled out some of Snow White's jewellery for you to choose from,” she added, and pointed to the medium-sized, purple-velvet-covered display rack that was sitting on the counter next to the inventory, covered in things that glittered.

“How would magic come here?” Neal scoffed with an easy smile, glad for the distance from magic that being in this world gave him, and crossed the room to look at the jewels.

“Oh, there's a way,” Rumplestiltskin admitted softly. He couldn't keep this a secret from his son. It was too important to both of them.

“What?” Neal demanded lowly.

“How else was I going to find you?” Rumplestiltskin questioned rhetorically. “I didn't know, back in the Enchanted Forest, of all the ways this world had of finding someone. I designed a way to bring magic here, so that I could use it to find you.”

Neal pursed his lips, not wholly comfortable with the admission, with what that meant. But he nodded in acceptance. He could understand that, he supposed. There wasn't any way his father could have known what the land without magic was like, and magic could be useful, as much as it could be horrible.

“You haven't used it though, have you?” he demanded lowly of his father.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “No,” he confirmed. “I'm not really in any condition for dragon slaying,” he added with a wry smile and a tap of his cane against the shoe of his bad leg.

Neal frowned. “Did you just – _dragon slaying_?” he repeated, incredulous.

“If we ever need magic, then I'll explain,” Rumplestiltskin promised. “Now, Belle, may I have the keys to your father's van? I've got plans for those flowers.”

Belle's lips twitched up slightly as she cocked her head curiously, but she did withdraw the keys.

“What sort of plans?” she asked coyly as she held them out.

“Plans to surprise you with tomorrow night,” Rumplestiltskin answered firmly as he took the keys from her, a smile dancing across his own features.

Belle pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “You're too good to me,” she insisted.

“Other way around, love,” Rumplestiltskin corrected instantly, happily.

Neal coughed softly, just to remind them that they had an audience.

“I'm old son, not dead, and Belle is a wonderful woman,” Rumplestiltskin defended lightly. “Who I would trust my dagger to, even back in the Enchanted Forest, and who I intend to see in a white dress one of these days. That was a declaration of intent Belle,” he added to her seriously. “Not a proposal. That will come though,” he promised, his words soft. “When I'm brave enough.”

Belle's cheeks warmed, her smile glowed, and she quickly kissed his other cheek before he turned to head out of the shop and make ready his surprise.

“You and my dad?” Neal questioned Belle once the door had swung shut behind the man.

Belle nodded happily and hummed a dreamy “uh-huh”.

~oOo~

Since her master was elsewhere, making Valentine's Day preparations, and since the only regular visitor to the shop (apart from Regina, and she was only semi-regular, coming in more often when she had a bone to pick with Gold than when all was well with her little world) had already left, Belle decided to get the last tasks of the day done quickly, close up early, and go down to Granny's. That was the plan anyway.

Sean (Pince Thomas) came by the shop while Belle was half-way through closing, which was a bit of a hiccup for those plans. Not an unpleasant one – if he'd come to the shop, then it was most likely to do business – but a hiccup nonetheless.

“Mr Herman?” Belle greeted curiously. “What brings you in here?”

“I'm, uh, I'm looking for a ring,” he admitted with a sweet, childish blush and a hopeful smile.

“The jewellers -” Belle started.

“Didn't have what I wanted for an engagement ring,” Sean cut her off, and swallowed tightly. “This is the only other place that has anything that might be right, and I've only got as long as my break lasts to look. Please Miss French.”

Belle nodded in understanding – and really, she understood better than he did. After all, Sean didn't remember having already married the mother of his child once. She pulled back one of the portraits, opened the safe behind it, and brought out the royal jewels that had been hidden there for safe-keeping. So many of the hidden compartments behind the portraits had been hiding magical items, but some careful re-arranging meant there was room to use these hidey-holes for security purposes.

Belle set the red-velvet display board of rings down on the counter for Sean to look over, and was not at all surprised when he picked the same ring as he had once put on Cinderella's finger back in the Enchanted Forest.

With that transaction completed, Belle was able to lock the door and close up.

“... and Sean's been working double shifts at the cannery,” Ashley was saying as Belle entered the diner.

She had a baby-carrier half-strapped to her front, but Granny was enjoying a bit of time cradling little Alexandra in her arms. Ashley was also sitting with Mary Margaret and Emma.

“Well, he has to work,” Mary Margaret offered softly.

“On Valentine's Day?” Ashley countered, and was suddenly on the receiving end of sympathetic looks. “Yeah, he couldn't get out of it.”

“I'm sorry,” Emma sympathised. “That sucks.”

“It doesn't have to,” Ruby offered with a bright red smile. “Come out with me,” she invited. “We'll have a girl's night. We can all go,” she suggested. “If _you_ leave the badge at home,” she added to Emma.

“Actually, ah, I have a date,” Emma deferred softly, bashful because she didn't want to upset Ashley, who's beau had to work that night.

“What? That's great!” Mary Margaret enthused.

“Who with?” Ruby asked eagerly.

Even Ashley leaned forward, keen on this little bit of gossip – even if she wasn't feeling the love herself quite so much at the moment.

“Neal Cassidy,” Belle announced, which drew the attention of the other women to her. “He came by the shop looking for something nice to give the lady.”

“He did?” Emma yelped.

Mary Margaret reached across the table to take her daughter's hand in both of hers (not that she remembered their relationship), a warm smile on her face that was completely happy for the blonde.

“Oh hey! Elle, do you want to join us for a girl's night tomorrow?” Ruby invited brightly. “Mr Gold lets you off the hook now and then for fun with friends, right? You should come.”

“Now, you know I'd normally be right there with you, but not this year Ruby,” Belle answered with a smile. “I have a date too.”

“What?!” Ruby yelped. “But you've never been interested in _any_ of the guys around town before!”

“With who?” Ashley begged to know.

Belle bit her lip to stifle laughter, but she couldn't hold back the grin. “I will only confirm if you can guess,” she teased.

“Mr Gold,” Emma said at once.

All eyes snapped to Emma in horror, well, except for Belle's. Her smile just got wider, but as all eyes were on Emma for her guess, no one but Emma saw it.

“Emma, that's not funny,” Mary Margaret scolded softly.

“It wasn't a joke,” Emma countered. “Who else, exactly, does Elle spend as much time with? He's not married, not unattractive, and he's not really all that old,” she pointed out with a shrug. There was also a knowing look in her eyes, since _she_ had spotted Belle's response to her guess.

Belle had to bite back her laughter again. Rumplestiltskin was over three-hundred years old, but he was very, very well preserved.

“But he's... he's... he's _Mr Gold_!” Mary Margaret protested.

“I'm with Mary Margaret on this one,” Ruby agreed.

“Me too,” Ashley said, clearly weirded out by even the suggestion. “Come on Elle, tell us who's really taking you out.”

Belle giggled. “Actually, Emma has it right,” she admitted happily.

“Wow,” Ruby said softly, stunned, and just a tiny bit horrified.

Belle giggled and shook her head. “Did I break your brain?” she teased with an almost childishly cheeky little smirk.

“I hear he bought all of the flowers in you dad's van when he collected it as collateral for an unpaid loan. Is he gunna get rewarded for that, or punished?” Emma asked with a sly smile.

“Oh, ew!” Ashley and Ruby both protested at once. Ashley covered her ears, Ruby scrubbed at her eyes, like that would erase the picture she'd just unintentionally conjured in her mind.

“Emma, none of us needed that mental image,” Mary Margaret added firmly, every inch the mother that being a primary school teacher had taught her to be – her own hand was hovering in front of her mouth.

It was the Storybrooke version of _hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil_ , but of dating. Belle, privately, found it hilarious.

“We're really just getting into this new aspect of our relationship,” Belle demurred, not letting on her carefully repressed desire to laugh at them. “It cannot be allowed to affect our professional, working relationship, after all.”

“Hey, I'm just suggesting you buy a nice negligee to wear for him, not that you take it off for him,” Emma defended with an easy, slightly cocky, crooked little smile. “I know I went and bought one for Neal after he gave me that rose earlier and invited me over to his place for a home-cooked Valentine's dinner. I even bought a dress too, and I don't generally do dresses.”

Belle nodded thoughtfully. “That's a good idea,” she decided. “Ruby, can I have one of Granny's little custard tarts, hot, to go? I'm going to go and look for,” she giggled, “negligee.”

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin arrived at his home to find the door open and the lock broken. Wary, and fearful for Belle despite the protective amulet she wore, he reached into the umbrella stand and pulled out the pistol he kept hidden there. Carefully, with particular attention to placing his cane as softly as he could, he crept into his house.

As he moved cautiously through his lounge room, he saw that there were things missing, objects over-turned, cabinets emptied and left with their doors hanging open. A couple of paintings had even been removed from their frames. His immaculately kept house, Belle's hard work, had been made a mess of.

There was a soft sound behind him, and he turned sharply, gun in hand and ready.

“Sheriff Swan,” he greeted with a sigh, and lowered the weapon, relieved to see her.

Emma kept her gun trained on him only a few seconds longer before she, too, put it away. Her hand lingered by it though, just in case.

“Neighbours saw your front door open,” she said. “Called it in.”

“It appears I've been robbed,” Rumplestiltskin offered, his voice a little hoarse from the tension and adrenaline of having found his home broken into.

“Funny how that keeps happening to you,” Emma noted.

“Yes, well, I'm a difficult man to love,” he allowed, and set the gun on the cabinet to his left so that he had a free hand to pull out his phone. “But, if you'll permit me, I have another concern.”

Emma frowned. “What's that?” she queried.

“I expected Miss French to have beaten me home today, and if it was my neighbours, rather than her, that called it in, well... I have the greatest faith in her self-defence capabilities and warrioress spirit, but I still want to make sure that she's alright,” he explained.

Emma paled and nodded.

Rumplestiltskin, of course, had Belle on his phone's speed-dial, and had the little black object pressed to his ear quickly.

“ _I will follow him. Follow him wherever he may go...”_ sang out softly and with a slightly tinny quality from further into the house. _“And near him I always will be, for nothing can keep me away. He is my destiny...”_

Rumplestiltskin and Emma frowned to each other, and followed the sound deeper into his home.

“ _I will follow him. Every since he touched my heart I knew, there isn't an ocean too deep, a mountain so high it can keep, keep me away...”_

It was Belle's phone, and it was on the floor under the kitchen table, which was not nearly as square in the room as it usually was. The phone was also next to a few drops of red, red blood. Rumplestiltskin took comfort in the fact that his Belle was a fighter, and the amulet she wore would protect her from grievous injury. Unless she'd had a spontaneous blood nose at the same time as the robbery, then that was most likely the blood of her kidnapper.

“Sheriff, I'm not particularly concerned about the theft at this time, though I would very much like that to be resolved. The recovery of Miss French, however, is paramount,” Rumplestiltskin stated as he hung up his phone and returned it to his coat pocket. A cold anger gripped him, it burned deeply, forcing back blinding rage for rationality and thought. Thinking was important right now.

“Agreed,” Emma said softly. “Any idea who'd do something like this?”

“I may have a short list of suspects,” Rumplestiltskin agreed, “but I have a much faster way of finding out what happened than rattling them off and sending you chasing after each one of them.”

“You have your home rigged with the same security system you've got through my office?” Emma guessed.

“And my shop as well, yes. That will tell us who took her and who burgled my home,” Rumplestiltskin affirmed with a nod of his head. “But I am much more concerned with where Miss French is right now. The rest can be sorted out _after_ she's safe.”

“And how do you intend to find her?” Emma questioned cautiously. “Even my ways of tracking a person will take a little time. Time that I'm not sure you want to risk taking.”

“Sheriff, I don't know if you've ever crossed paths with a friend of mine -”

“Didn't know you had any apart from Elle,” Emma quipped in sarcastic commentary, a small smirk on her face.

“I have one other. His name is Jefferson,” Rumplestiltskin replied, and one corner of his mouth kicked up a little in appreciation of her humour, however much he was in no mood for laughing just now. “And we are going to go and see him.”

“And that will help, how?” Emma asked.

“You'll see when we get there,” Rumplestiltskin promised.


	12. Chapter 12

“Nice looking place,” Emma commented when she pulled the squad car to a halt in front of the building that Rumplestiltskin had directed her to from his own place in the passenger seat.

“It's large and empty and he half-hates it,” Rumplestiltskin said frankly as he opened his door. “He just wants his daughter back.”

“What happened to her?” Emma asked, sympathetic to any parent who wanted their kid.

“When Regina cast the curse, it ripped away what people held most dear,” Rumplestiltskin said, no longer bothering to keep up the pretence of false memories. “I managed to weasel a few concessions out of her for myself when she came to me. She'd had trouble making the curse work, and I was actually the one who taught her how to use magic in the first place. Jefferson's daughter thinks her name is Paige now, but it's really Grace. Regina was particularly cruel in making Jefferson remember both his life in the Enchanted Forest, and another life here, while his little girl doesn't remember her father. She's happy enough right now though, so Jefferson contents and tortures himself with just watching her.”

“That sucks,” Emma said softly as she followed Rumplestiltskin up the garden path to the front door. “Wait, you're seriously telling me that the curse Henry's always going on about is real?” she demanded incredulously.

“Indeed,” Rumplestiltskin agreed solemnly, and rang the doorbell.

It didn't take long for Jefferson to answer, and his blue eyes flicked across the pair of them quickly.

“Darcy,” he greeted. “I'd say you're looking unusually solemn, but Elvira isn't at your side, so I'd guess that explains it.”  
“She's been kidnapped, Jefferson,” Rumplestiltskin answered shortly.

“Come in,” Jefferson said at once, and stepped aside. “You know where it is.”

“Where what is?” Emma asked, then blinked. “Wait. Darcy?”

“My given name, dear,” Rumplestiltskin said as he marched through his friend's house as fast as his bad leg would allow him. “Here, anyway,” he amended. “Jefferson, the mother of your future son-in-law, Emma Swan. Sheriff, my only other friend in the world, Jefferson, and father of the girl who is the real reason your son figured out the curse and went looking for a way to break it.”

“I'm only not voicing my disbelief because there really isn't time,” Emma grumbled.

“You told her?” Jefferson asked as he followed.

“Just as we were coming up the garden path to your door,” Rumplestiltskin replied. “Jefferson, I _do_ owe you a favour for this,” he insisted.

“You can't break the curse,” Jefferson deferred with a shake of his head.

“No, but I know where Regina moved her vault to,” Rumplestiltskin countered. “And I'd bet my gold tooth that all the magical items she kept there came with it, even if I haven't made an investigation myself.”

“My hat?” Jefferson breathed, eyes wide at the implication.

“More than likely,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. In fact, he was certain. Belle had actually performed a thorough investigation of the crypt for him already (even to the point of checking every fold and seam of the dresses there, and finding the Dark Curse among their folds – it had been reclaimed and hidden in Mr Gold's cane), but he wasn't going to admit that where Emma could hear.

“That's square,” Jefferson decided with an accepting nod.

“Beneath her father's casket. Just push it aside and go down the stairs. She takes flowers for her father and does a cursory inspection of her things every Wednesday evening,” Rumplestiltskin said, and opened a door in Jefferson's home to reveal a room where a black and gold telescope was set up.

“A telescope?” Emma asked.

“As much as this world is supposed to be without magic my dear, when magical items were brought here, they retained their power,” Rumplestiltskin explained frankly as he bent to peer through the eyepiece. He grit his teeth as he straightened. If he took the time to properly study that scene, he'd only feel the need to break something, so he backed off. “Though some more than others.”

“This telescope lets you see anybody you want, wherever they are, so long as they're in Storybrooke,” Jefferson elaborated.

“And that will help us find Elle,” Emma said with a nod of understanding, thought it was clear she was still having a hard time believing what she was being told.

“See for yourself,” Rumplestiltskin offered.

Emma gave both men a dubious look, but brought an eye to the telescope all the same. She drew back quickly and looked out the window. The view she saw there, and what she saw through the telescope, did most certainly not match up. She looked through the scope again.

“Well?” Rumplestiltskin demanded.

“Looks kinda like the hospital,” Emma said. “Not anywhere I've seen, but I've hardly seen all of it,” she conceded. “And it looks like she's been sedated.”

Jefferson bent to look the second that Emma stepped back.

“I sometimes volunteer at the hospital, and I know where that is,” he said, and then he too stepped back, and he looked Rumplestiltskin in the eye. “Her majesty's new dungeon, a secret asylum in the hospital basement. Go through the back door and the boiler room. There's more stairs, but no locks to deal with except on the doors of the cells themselves. If they want to avoid being found, rather than going through any official channels, then they'll have had to use that way as well, so be careful.”

“Thank you Jefferson,” Rumplestiltskin breathed, and then he was marching out of his friend's house again, the fastest pace he could muster with his limp and cane.

~oOo~

“You didn't need my help finding Ashley,” Emma accused lightly as they drove to the hospital.

“I hadn't actually reconnected with Jefferson at that point,” Rumplestiltskin countered, his tone just as light as hers. “Besides, the person I was originally going to give the child to, back in the Enchanted Forest, died before Cinderella became pregnant. Miss French came up with an alternative, but really, trading the child back to her mother for a favour from you was to everyone's benefit. Even yours.”

“Right...” Emma agreed dubiously, and mentally grumbled that what they were currently doing came under the heading of her job, so it wouldn't qualify as fulfilling that favour owed. “So... Henry said that nobody remembered who they were.”

“And until I heard your given name Sheriff, I didn't know who I was either,” Rumplestiltskin answered as simply as he could. “Both Miss French and I. Jefferson's situation I've already explained to you.”

“Yeah, but what's so special about me that my name brings back your memories of a previous life?” Emma demanded.

“Your mother came to see me, to ask details of how the curse could be broken, since preventing it from being cast wasn't really an option,” Rumplestiltskin explained. “She was pregnant with you at the time, heavily so, and in exchange for the information, I asked for your name as my price. I had some ability to see the future then, though in a land without magic, that's just another power that I no longer have access to. I knew that you'd come, so with your name... I wrote it over and over and over again in ink that was taken from a Neverland giant squid. That ink can overpower any magic, if used the right way. That's how I have my memories.”

“And Elle?” Emma asked.

“Was my assistant back then as well, just as she is here, and I had her do the same,” he stated.

They'd reached the hospital. Emma stopped the car, and they both climbed out, though Emma hesitated a moment to grab a couple of things from the glove box.

“Just in case we run into anybody, you're my temporary deputy,” Emma informed him shortly, and held out her old badge. “The pay's shit, but you get dental,” she offered with a sarcastic twist to her mouth.

Rumplestiltskin smirked right back, the sun glinted off his golden tooth, and he stuck the badge to the lapel of his topcoat.

“And when we're done here, you're going to explain about that future in-law stuff you were talking about,” Emma said firmly.

Rumplestiltskin smirked, but nodded in agreement.

Together, they proceeded to let themselves into the hospital boiler room and basement. It was deserted, but so much the better for now. When they reached a collection of doors, with little slots in them but no names by them, they took one side of the hallway each and started checking.

Emma was the one to find the right door, with an unconscious Belle locked up inside.

Rumplestiltskin found a wheelchair for them to get her out on while Emma picked the lock.

It was a bit of work, but they got her out to the squad car, into the back seat, and secured – and then to the pawnshop, which had a back way in (rarely used though it was), and locks on the doors that hadn't been forced recently.

Rumplestiltskin lay Belle gently down on a day-bed he kept at the shop for when his leg started to pain him, then he let Emma take watch over her while he went back to his home to fetch Belle's laptop – which would have the security feeds needed to identify the person or persons who had robbed him and abducted her, and which had been foolishly left by those self-same villains.

~oOo~

It was Valentine's Day, and all was right with the world. More or less, anyway. With the security footage from Rumplestiltskin's home as evidence, Emma had been able to arrest Moe French for the theft and kidnapping of his daughter, and even managed to nab Regina for being an accessory to both crimes. Before lunchtime. With the recovery of his property and a promise from Moe French to never do anything that stupid ever again (including but not limited to giving Regina the time of day), Rumplestiltskin had agreed to not file civil charges in regards to breaking and entering against the man.

Moe was still going to have to suffer through criminal charges for everything though. He had committed an act of theft, as well as kidnapping, and there were laws about that. Not having to face a civil case over the burglary as well was just a very, very small mercy. Along with his being permitted to post bail. Not that he could afford it – it was more than Rumplestiltskin had paid him for the flowers in the van by a rather significant factor.

Regina, however... Well, the bumps and cuts that Belle gave out as she fought back before the sedatives kicked in weren't the only punishment that woman would be getting, and she would most certainly not be getting bail – Rumplestiltskin saw to that. A mayor involved in a kidnapping? No, she would not be getting out of that cell. Moe had just been hoodwinked into 'saving' his little girl from her evil boss. Regina was the mastermind, and as such would be appropriately punished.

“I cannot let this stand Belle,” Rumplestiltskin said firmly, his arms wrapped around her as they sat together in the cosy quiet of his cabin, surrounded by roses, and his nose buried in her dark brown curls. “I _will not_ let this stand!” he insisted, and squeezed her a little tighter to his chest, afraid that she would disappear again.

“No, and I don't expect you to,” Belle agreed softly. Gently, she pushed back from him so that she could look him in the eye, and then she tenderly cupped his face in her hands. “I do, however, ask that you let _me_ have first crack at Regina, well, apart from this world's standard system of justice.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked at that, surprised. Then he smiled, and some – but by no means all – of the tension seeped out of his frame. His shoulders dropped, his arms loosened around her, though he still held her about the waist.

“As long as you leave me something,” he said, agreeing, but giving his condition for doing so.

Belle chuckled. “I'm fairly sure there's going to be a long line of people who want their pound of flesh from her when the curse breaks, so we'll both have to leave something. We wouldn't want to deprive her of any suffering, after all,” she quipped with a smile. Then, languidly, she stretched up from where she was sitting on the bed, her right hip pressed to his, and kissed his brow.

He sighed, leant into her touch, and the last of the tension in him faded away, banished by her warmth. When she withdrew her lips, he dropped his face into the woollen scarf draped over her shoulders

“Now,” Belle said as she held him to her and stroked his hair. “No more talk of Regina and vengeance. It's Valentine's Day, we have a beautifully decorated cabin all to ourselves, and I have something for you,” she added with a shy little smile, and carefully extracted herself from their embrace.

“Belle, all I want right now is you in my arms, where I can know you're safe,” Rumplestiltskin protested after her.

Belle giggled softly. “And I want to stay in your arms,” she agreed as she moved behind a privacy screen to change. “But you'll like this, I promise.”

When she emerged from behind the screen, Belle had replaced her blouse and slacks with an almost-sheer, grey-gold slip that was trimmed with creamy lace, and stopped halfway down her thigh. It was held up only by shoestring straps, and she'd released her curly brown hair from its braid completely.

Rumplestiltskin's breath caught at the sight of her as she padded back over to him and the bed in her bare feet. The only thing she appeared to be wearing, apart from the negligee, was the amulet he'd given her so long ago.

Belle nudged her master's legs apart, and lowered herself onto the bed again. With Rumplestiltskin's bad leg, it just wasn't comfortable for him to have her weight on his lap for any real length of time, so instead she settled herself down between his legs, with her own stretched out over his uninjured one.

“Blessed darkness, but I love you,” Rumplestiltskin swore as he threaded one of his hands into Belle's hair.

“Good,” Belle answered with a low, cheeky, throaty chuckle as a naughty little smile danced across on her face. She snuggled up to him, arms wrapped around his middle easily. “Because I love you too.”

Rumplestiltskin reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small, blue-velvet box. He opened it and removed the item within. Lovingly, he slipped it onto Belle's left ring-finger.

“Is that...?” Belle questioned softly, but was unable to finish the sentence.

“A promise ring,” Rumplestiltskin supplied. “A declaration of intent. You're mine to court, and court you I shall. Soon I will give you an engagement ring, and following that, a wedding band,” he explained.

Belle smiled and pressed a tender kiss to the line of his jaw, near to the corner of his mouth.

~oOo~

They were on their way to the shop when they saw Neal, and Emma, and Henry. They stopped to admire the fractured (but mending) little family. Emma had a smile on her face that just about split it in two, and there was a matching expression on Neal's face.

“I think,” Belle said softly into Rumplestiltskin's ear, “that having grown up in this world has seen to your son being much more comfortable with the socially acceptable norms here than either of us.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. “Yes,” he agreed. “It does look like they had a very good Valentine's Day evening, doesn't it? Quite apart from gaining custody of Henry because Regina is behind bars.”

“And Neal said he was going to tell her as well,” Belle recalled. “So that means...”  
“If she's that happy, then she's probably accepted his tale and believes it,” Rumplestiltskin finished as they watched Emma bend and place a kiss on Henry's forehead.

A ripple of rainbow light spread out. The power of True Love breaking a curse. _The_ Curse.

“A little surprised that didn't happen last night,” Belle quipped with an arched brow at her master.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “The clause for breaking the curse is in the product of True Love, remember?” he reminded her with a smile. “Not just True Love, but what it makes. _That_ is the most powerful magic of all.”

Belle blinked, grinned, pressed a kiss to his cheek, rested her head comfortably on his shoulder, laced her fingers with his, and turned to watch the people on the street as they all just stopped moving and adjusted to  _remembering_ .

Rumplestiltskin didn't let her linger and watch for too long though, and with nothing more than a wave to the little family, they continued on to the shop,

“So, do you need magic?” Belle asked softly as Rumplestiltskin unlocked the door.

“I first sought magic to protect my son, and later I dedicated my use of it to finding him again. He's a grown man now, and doesn't need protecting,” Rumplestiltskin answered. “Doesn't need finding either, or at least, I now know that I won't need magic to find him if I ever lose him again in this world. I could say I'll use magic to protect you, my Belle,” he offered with a smile and a knowing glint in his eye, “but Keith, Regina, and your father can certainly attest to your being quite capable of taking care of yourself, quite apart from the amulet you already wear to that effect.”

“So, no rainy days yet that need a bit of True Love to fix,” Belle summarised with a smile, and followed him into the shop.

“Indeed not,” Rumplestiltskin agreed with a chuckle as he moved to begin his part of the morning routine they had long established – the first thing on that list being to turn the sign to 'open', instead of 'closed'. “Maleficent can hold onto it for a while longer.”

Belle giggled and shook her head in amused agreement. “And, uh,” she hesitated thoughtfully as she opened blinds and wiped them down her dusting cloth. “How long do you think it will be before one of the collective masses comes looking for a magical solution to a problem?”

“A lot sooner than that 'rainy day',” Rumplestiltskin answered with dry certainty. “Which is just too bad for them, because I find myself surprisingly content to be without it.”

“You know, the shop is probably going to start getting a lot of visitors now,” Belle pointed out absently. “People are going to wonder which of their treasures you have.”

“They're going to have to pay for them,” Rumplestiltskin countered, that sly little impish grin of old lighting his eyes. “That's how pawnshops work.”

“Care to lay bets on who our first visitors will be?” Belle offered.

Rumplestiltskin laughed. “Looking for magic, or looking for their property?” he queried, seeking specification.

The bell jingled before Belle could answer one way or the other.

“Mr Gold?” Henry asked tentatively.

“Henry!” Rumplestiltskin answered, surprised. “What are you doing here? Not that I'm not happy to see you, but with everybody getting their memories back, I'd have thought you'd be looking to meet Snow White and Charming.”

The boy grimaced. “I did, but then Archie came and said that Doctor Whale had managed to get a mob moving, and they were headed to the sheriff's station to kill the queen. Dad told me to stay here until he or Emma came to get me, so I'd be safe.”

“Told you there'd be a line of people out for a pound of flesh,” Belle quipped softly to her master, just in his ear, so that Henry wouldn't hear.

“Um, Mr Gold?” Henry asked hesitantly. “Dad said, I mean... Are you really my grandpa?”

Rumplestiltskin's breath caught in his throat, stuck on the lump that had formed there suddenly, and while no words seemed able to get passed it, he was still able to nod an affirmative.

“Then... why didn't you tell me sooner?” Henry pressed.

“Because your da needed to tell your mother first,” Rumplestiltskin managed to answer, the words somehow managing to work around the lump that was lodged behind his adam's apple.

“But why?” Henry asked, confused.

“Because adults aren't as smart as kids about some things,” Belle supplied. “Now, you've only ever come into Mr Gold's shop once before, for your book, so you don't know all the treasures we keep here. Would you like to help me clean? And any time you find something really interesting...” Belle trailed off and shot a teasing, mischievous little smile at her master. “Your grandfather can tell you the story that goes with it.”

“Really?” Henry asked eagerly. The way to the boy's heart was through stories, it seemed.

Rumplestiltskin breathed out a stunned, wondering chuckle – and found that the lump in his throat went away with that expelled breath. “Yes,” he agreed. “I'll tell you the stories of any object in the shop,” he promise. “But you have to help Miss French with the dusting.”

Henry frowned. “Why do you still do that?” he asked. “Call each other Mr Gold and Miss French? Why not your real names?”

“Habit,” Rumplestiltskin admitted with an only slightly rueful smile.

“And Mr Gold's real name is rather long,” Belle quipped to her boss with a smile, and quickly carded her fingers through his hair. “Come on Henry, there's dusting to be done, treasure to be found, and stories to be had,” she instructed, and passed over a long feather duster. “Your weapon, little prince,” she presented gallantly.

Henry giggled (except, of course, he was a boy and would therefore deny such a description).

Rumplestiltskin pretended to scoff. “Now Belle, none of that. Henry's going to learn to be a sorcerer, aren't you lad? Much more fun than just being some useless royal, having to deal with silly nobles and tedious politics,” he teased, and gave the boy a wink.

Henry bit his lip, suddenly self-conscious. Was he really going to have to live up to so many great expectations? He was still only recently eleven.

Rumplestiltskin's teasing grin softened into a genuinely caring smile. “Don't mind your old grandfather when he talks that way lad,” he assured the boy. “Nor Miss French, or Snow or Charming either. You just be you, whatever it is you want to be. Just don't go aiming for perfect. That never works out well, and it's too stressful by half.”

Henry grinned at that, nodded his understanding, and took the duster to one corner of the shop to start his cleaning – and treasure hunting.

~oOo~

“What's the story behind these?” Henry asked, and held up two wooden dolls – his third find of the day, having already found the unicorn mobile that used to be over his mother's cradle (which she'd never had a chance to rest in), and Sydney Glass' old genie lamp.

“They're Geppetto's parents,” Rumplestiltskin answered. This answer was delivered softly, simply, and almost dispassionately. Almost, but not quite. He was truly sorry that he'd deprived a child of his parents that way so long ago.

Henry gasped softly and stared at the dolls in his hands again. He looked up at his grandfather, and asked the question that  _of course_ he would ask.

“Can you turn them back?” the boy begged softly. “I know, in my book, the Blue Fairy told Jiminy that it was impossible, that she couldn't bring them back...”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.

“There's no magic here,” Belle reminded Henry gently. “And magic would be needed to restore them.”

“Fairy dust being the best cure for their condition,” Rumplestiltskin put in with a carefully neutral expression on his face. “Something that the lying blue jellyfish had in ample supply, and I had little of and other, more pressing uses for when I managed to lay my hands on it.”

Henry frowned in thoughtful confusion at that.

“Why would she lie?” he asked, and there was no denial in his tone like there would have been if either of his other set of grandparents were asking, merely curiosity to learn and understand.

Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow and gave Belle a glance.

She took the dolls from Henry and urged him towards the little day-bed her master kept behind the counter – where Rumplestiltskin himself was taking a seat.

Henry eagerly hopped up beside him, more than happy to listen to the story-come-explanation that his grandfather was about to share.

“Now Henry, the first thing that you need to understand is that the future is messy and always in motion. Certain things are inevitable, but the way they happen, the journey to that particular point and then the way things progress beyond it... there are millions of different ways it could happen,” Rumplestiltskin explained.

“Like?” Henry queried, the word drawn out.

“Like your parents might have stayed together, instead of being split up by Mr Booth,” Belle suggested, “and then come here to settle down with you and start their life as a family in a nice, safe, quiet little town.”

“Oh. Okay,” Henry decided with a nod. “That... sounds like it would have been nice,” he said, a little wistful.

“The point though Henry, is that certain things are inevitable, and the way to get to those things isn't, and Reul Ghorm could see little pieces of possible futures. Not much mind you, not as much as I could when I had magic, but some,” Rumplestiltskin took up the explanation again. “She is also very old, older than I am. In our very few interactions, I got the impression that she was very certain of herself, and I am absolutely certain that she is utterly sanctimonious.”

Henry frowned in confusion. “What does that mean? Sanctimonious?” he queried.

“It means that she made a show of being morally superior to other people,” Belle answered. “Even though she actually wasn't.”

“She might have seen that Jiminy would be there to give advice to Snow White,” Rumplestiltskin suggested. “But as old as Geppetto was when Snow was born, Jiminy would have been well and truly dead by that time without magical intervention, so the Blue Fairy turn him into something else, and at the same time made it so that he would live as long as he needed to, which preserved him rather well, now didn't it?” he pointed out.

Henry nodded slowly as he took that in. Archie was younger than Marco, but Jiminy had been a grown man when he met first a little boy called Geppetto.

“Why did Geppetto's parents get turned into dolls in the first place though?” he asked.

“Ah, now that's a different story,” Rumplestiltskin declared, and much more cheerfully – though Belle could see if was a somewhat put-on cheerfulness. “You see, Jiminy wanted to be free of his parents, who were not at all nice people, and he used to make a regular delivery of trinkets to me, along with a list of names. People they'd belonged to. Like that ukulele on the wall, that's something he brought me.”

Henry turned to follow Rumplestiltskin's pointing finger, and cocked his head to the side slightly as he considered the instrument.

“And the last time he came to see me, the desire to be free of his parents was thrumming through him so loudly that anyone who had ever answered the call of wishes, desires, or the desperation of another with magic would have heard it a mile away,” Rumplestiltskin continued. “But I was right there, and it was no trouble to me to make a potion for the young man. He couldn't pay for it, but I allowed that my fee would be those who took the potion. Back then, like I said already, I could see more of the future than Reul Ghorm, so I'm afraid I knew that Jiminy's horrible parents would escape my potion by giving it to Geppetto's sweet, innocent, naïve parents.”

“Then... why did you give it to him?” Henry questioned.

“Because I also knew that Jiminy was important, and that when this happened, Jiminy would cross paths with the jellyfish, and she would help him. If I could tell exactly how important he would be to the future, then there was only the very slimmest possibility that she would miss it in her much more vague visions,” Rumplestiltskin explained, his voice lowered to a dramatic whisper.

“You... planned out the whole thing?” Henry checked, a little incredulous and unsure if he should be awed or horrified.

“I promised Jiminy he'd be free of his parents, and he was,” Rumplestiltskin said as he smiled crookedly down at his grandson. “Just not quite the way he expected from me, manipulating the situation so that his life would be preserved beyond its natural limit with light magic, which was much healthier for him than my magic would have been. Even the Blue Bug doesn't know how well I planned that one out,” he bragged lightly, a trickster's triumphant smirk on his features.

Henry stifled an appreciative laugh behind one hand, and his eyes sparkled with delight – it seemed he'd decided to settle on being impressed by his grandfather, rather than scared of him. The story done, Henry took up his duster again and continued to find more interesting treasures scattered all around the shop.

~oOo~

It was Neal who eventually came to check on Henry, after he'd also asked about the golden fleece and even managed to get a very quick lesson in how to properly use a spinning wheel – that is, for spinning thread, rather than pricking fingers on cursed spindles.

“How'd it go?” Belle asked.

“Well, the station is still standing,” Neal said, “but Emma's parents aren't being as, uh, well... they're not handling the whole 'reunion' bit quite as well as you did Papa,” he admitted with a look at his father. “Mary Margaret's pushing to talk, and Emma needs space, and would prefer they put off talking until there's a few bottles of wine available. Or something stronger, maybe.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled softly at that. “I don't blame the girl,” he said. “I stay away from all alcohol unless I've had a particularly trying week, and then even only a glass or two of whiskey, but I've noticed that your lady can certainly drink when she has set herself the task of 'unwinding'.”

Neal smiled in a fond, crooked way at that. When he'd met Emma, she was still technically too young to drink, but since being reunited with her, he'd really learned her of capacity.

“Lots of folks still have questions though,” Neal said, snapping out of his fond thoughts. “And now the mob's calmed down, they're trying to find their families again too.”

“I'm sorry to say that some of them won't succeed,” Rumplestiltskin admitted softly, genuinely saddened. “There are people missing from Storybrooke.”

“Missing?” Neal repeated with a frown.

“But no one can leave Storybrooke, so they've got to be here,” Henry objected.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “I see most everybody in this town at least once a month,” he reminded his grandson. “And there are people not here that should be.”

“Like who?” Henry asked.

“Princess Aurora, Prince Philip, and warriors like Mulan and Lancelot,” Belle listed off. “You know, just to name a couple of the more key individuals.”

“Not to mention Robin Hood and his entire merry band of misfits,” Rumplestiltskin added with a wry twist of his lips.

“Why wouldn't the curse bring them here like everybody else?” Henry pressed, intensely curious.

“Because someone with enough power and enough knowledge must have created a barrier over some of the Enchanted Forest,” Rumplestiltskin offered solemnly. “And I'm afraid I can only think of one person who really fits all the criteria.”

Neal frowned. “I'd have thought there weren't any people in the Enchanted Forest who were powerful enough, apart from you Papa,” he said.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.

“It's an admittedly very exclusive list,” Belle countered. “And Regina made sure everyone she knew of who could have, wasn't in a position to.”

“Maleficent is currently trapped in her dragon form beneath the library, and as such free from suspicion for such an accusation. I'm fairly sure Regina bound the dark fairy with iron. There was me, but I was locked up in a cell where I supposedly couldn't use magic, and besides, I _wanted_ to come here...” Rumplestiltskin explained. Then he hesitated.

“The only other people with the appropriate knowledge and power were last thought to be either dead or in another realm, so they shouldn't have factored in,” Belle finished.

“Who?” Henry asked curiously.

Rumplestiltskin took a deep, bracing breath. “Regina's mother, Cora, and her older half-sister, Zelena,” he answered. “Rengia thinks her mother dead, and doesn't even know she's got a sister, but those two would be my top suspects.”

“But you said 'one person',” Neal reminded his father.

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “Cora,” he said decisively. “Regina stole Jefferson's hat, and she used it to send someone, I don't know who, after her mother. Her body was brought back, but I'm of the opinion that woman would have faked it and kept a low profile about the Enchanted Forest until Regina cast the curse. I'm fairly sure that Zelena didn't have access to the sort of magic that would let her travel across realms at the time.”

“She someone we should worry about?” Neal asked. “Cora, I mean. But Zelena too, I guess.”

“Cora ripped out her own heart because she thought emotions were weakness,” Rumplestiltskin stated bluntly. “But even before then, she was rather bloodthirsty. Be grateful that this is a land without magic. As for Zelena... I'm afraid she became a very special type of insane. Again, we are protected by the lack of magic in this world.”

“Gotcha,” Neal agreed, a little pale at the idea that anybody would rip their own hearts out of their chests.

“So... what happens now?” Henry asked. “Why didn't everybody go back to the Enchanted Forest when Emma broke the curse?”

“Well, the curse had lots of parts to it,” Rumplestiltskin started hesitantly. “Layers, you might say, and the transportation spell that brought us all here was only one part. It was also only one-way. I can do within-realm transportation spells easily enough, but journeys and portals between realms is more Jefferson's magical purview than mine, and even he had his limits. We'd need magic in Storybrooke before his magic hat would work, and even then, it wouldn't be able to transport the entire town.”

“Oh.”

“As for what happens now,” Neal interjected. “Well, your _other_ grandparents are organising a town meeting at City Hall. That's gonna happen in about an hour. Dr Whale had only gotten a small mob moving, and the whole town needs to be reassured about some things now that the curse is broken. They uh, they don't want you there too Papa,” he admitted with a bit of a grimace. “But they recognise the need.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded in resigned acceptance. “Neither of them knows very much about magic at all, and they're hardly going to invite Regina to get up there in front of everybody and tell them the details of the curse,” he said. “I'll be there.”

“We,” Belle corrected firmly, and rubbed one delicate hand across her master's shoulders. “We will be there.”

“Aye, m'dear,” Rumplestiltskin agreed with a tender smile as he covered her delicate little hand with his own. “We.”


	13. Chapter 13

Of the couple, Snow White was the one that gave the better speeches. Charming was more a man of action, rather than words. This time though, they were standing at the podium on the stage in City Hall together.

“The dwarves investigated the matter,” Snow announced, “and we're trapped here. If you leave Storybrooke, then you will lose all of your true memories. You will forget who you are, and everyone who loves you will lose you – and worse than that, you will lose yourself. As painful as some of our memories are, I for one can speak from experience. Forgetting does not make the pain go away, and it does not make it better. In fact, it makes it worse.”

“David Nolan of Storybrooke was -” Charming paused and corrected himself, “- is weak and confused. I wouldn’t give up being Charming just to be him,” he said frankly. “But you know what? I wouldn’t make the other trade either,” he admitted.

“Because Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan remind us not only of our losses, but also of our goals, of the people we _want_ to be,” Snow White picked up again. “Our weaknesses, and our strengths. We spent twenty-eight hazy years thinking we were someone else, and in that time... we did become them. We are both of these people. Everyone in this town is both, and outside of this place, no one will understand that. You can leave, if you really want, and you can forget, but we urge you all to stay here, where every choice is open to you,” she declared with that pretty little winsome smile of hers. The one that said 'I will not lose hope'.

“Live in the woods if you want,” Charming allowed with a smile. “Hell, live in a shoe if you want. Or eat frozen burritos and write software. But let’s all get back to work, and back to living. Even if they're not the lives we're entirely used to.”

Snow went on to explain the procedures that had (only just) been set up to help people find their families if they had been split up, and that Dr Hopper would have a sign-up sheet at the door if anybody needed counselling.

Then she introduced Rumplestiltskin – though she continued to call him by his Storybrooke identity of Mr Gold – and he pushed himself up on his cane, out of his chair, and slowly stepped up to the podium.

Belle smiled from where she was seated in the front row, with Neal to her left. Henry was between his father and Emma, and the Saviour in turn was supremely grateful that her parents had to take their seats on the stage while Rumplestiltskin claimed the attention of the entire hall.

“I think everybody here knows me, one way or another,” Rumplestiltskin stated. “Here in Storybrooke, I became Mr Gold. Nearly all of you pay me rent – and yes, I will continue to collect for as long as we all live here, so I really do advise you continue going to work. In the Enchanted Forest, I was the Dark One, and I answered the calls of the desperate.” He paused as he considered his next words before he loosed them. “Whoever that might have been.”

Softly, a ripple of murmuring and whispers spread out. Some people asked the people they sat next to if _they_ had ever called on the Dark One. Some people speculated on that last quip of his, and in a very few sets of eyes about the room, extremely concerned enlightenment dawned.

“Some of you have figured it out,” Rumplestiltskin said with a nod. “I answered the calls of both the side of 'good', and the side of 'evil'. To me, they were all simply 'the desperate'. I was called the Dark One, and certainly I used dark magic, but really I was a much more neutral party, no matter what Reul Ghorm might say to the contrary if she dared to show her face right now,” he added with a slight sneer.

Behind him, both Snow White and Charming shifted in their chairs, discomforted. They'd both dealt with Rumplestiltskin in their time, and they had also both dealt with the Blue Fairy. From his place in the front row, Neal lifted his chin, quietly proud of the father he'd been getting to know all over again since his arrival in Storybrooke.

“But right now, I'm up here because of my knowledge of magic in general, and of the curse that brought us all here specifically,” Rumplestiltskin continued. “This is a land without magic,” he stated clearly. “However, for the next short while, my knowledge of it is at your disposal, and free of charge.”

“Why are we still here?” asked Dr Whale earnestly. “If the curse is broken, why didn't we all go home?”

“We're still here because of three factors. The first is that there was never a return trip built into the curse. The second is that travel between realms requires magic. The third is that there is no magic inherent to this land,” Rumplestiltskin explained shortly. “The only magic in this world is in the magics that were brought here, and even those magics are not what they used to be. Most do still hold at least some of their power, though it is to varying degrees. I will say this right now: yes, the Enchanted Forest does exist for us to return to, we simply lack the means, and in some cases the desire, to return. I don't know about you, but I rather enjoy indoor plumbing and the various hygiene items of this realm.”

“A definite plus of this place,” Snow muttered softly, but fervently, behind him, and Rumplestiltskin smirked as he was sure that many people were murmuring much the same thing throughout the hall.

“How do you know it's still there?” Granny demanded.

“Because there are people missing from here,” Rumplestiltskin answered in that tone that said he really didn't appreciate the question all that much. He'd said it, it was true, did they really need to continue to demand some sort of proof from him?

And that really set the cat among the pigeons.

“Is Regina a threat?” Archie asked cautiously. “I mean, she's locked up, and she doesn't have any magic because there isn't any magic in this land, but is she still dangerous despite that?”

“Regina is a desperate woman, but one who is caged for now,” Rumplestiltskin hedged. “As for her having no magic... I believe that Regina killed Graham by crushing his heart in her hand. Currently though, she doesn't have access to her vault of magical objects, so you're all safe enough from that threat.”

“What sort of objects?” asked a man who had once been a king, but was now only Mitchell Herman. “What sort of magic was brought here?”

“The full list of what is in Regina's vault is something that we can't know for sure until it has been thoroughly investigated,” Rumplestiltskin deflected. “A task that I hope to conduct, perhaps with our good Sheriff, before the week is out,” he added with a pointed, enquiring look in her direction.

Emma gave an unhappy sigh, but nodded in agreement.

Rumplestiltskin nodded slightly in grateful satisfaction. He and Belle had catalogued everything already, but doing it again – visibly, officially and under Emma's watch – would calm a great deal of the populace.

“Apart from the contents of Regina's vault, a few inherently magical places that were brought here also still have some of their magic,” he added, almost off-handedly.

“Places?” Grumpy asked from where he was sitting in down near the back of the hall. “What sort of places?”

“For example,” Rumplestiltskin said, “back in the Enchanted Forest there was a lake, the waters of which had the power to restore that which was lost. It couldn't bring back the dead of course. No magic can do that,” he cautioned quickly.

“Lake Nostos was dried up before the curse was cast though,” Charming denied from behind him.

“The lake came from an underground spring. With the siren who lived there slain, the waters receded back into the soil. The curse set up a connection to that spring here,” Rumplestiltskin declared. “There's an old well a short way outside of town.”

“Could we bring back Sneezy's memories with that?” Grumpy asked hopefully.

“The water has some power, but I don't know if it would be enough on its own. The well, however, is not the only place that was brought here. There are also the mines where fairy-dust came from. You may all recall they began to collapse from lack of maintenance some short time ago.”

“We could have fairy-dust again?” one of the nuns asked hopefully as she jumped out of her chair, hands clasped in front of her chest. It was Astrid, the Mother Superior, previously the fairy Nova that had fallen in love with a dwarf. Being the woman in charge of all her fellow fairies had been good to her.

“It would not be anywhere near as powerful, if it can even be produced,” Rumplestiltskin cautioned immediately. “But I believe that it should be possible. If combined with the water from the well, then theoretically that should restore the memories of anyone who crosses the town line, particularly if drunk from a vessel that had some meaning to the person in their previous life. There is no magic in this land though, so I can make no guarantees.”

“If there's no magic here...” Ruby hesitated, the next to speak up. “What about people who were cursed? Or similar?”

“That would depend on the curse, Miss Lucas. For those who had some kind of curse upon them or a loved one, please come and see me after this meeting, at your discretion,” Rumplestiltskin offered to the population at large. “We can discuss the particulars privately. I suspect that most curses would remain largely dormant though, even if magic were brought here. On the other hand, if someone you know was under the sleeping curse when brought here, I recommend looking for them in the coma ward. True Love's kiss, regardless of if magic were brought to this land or not, should be effective to wake them. The physical manifestation of a curse on a person is quite key in the consideration of a curse as it applies to a person in this land. Beyond that, if a curse has not already manifested itself, then I do not believe that it will. Should magic ever come to Storybrooke, that may well be a different matter, but that is only if.”

The young woman sighed, nodded, and re-took her seat.

“Can magic be brought to Storybrooke?” Billy, a mechanic who used to be a mouse, asked.

“There is a way,” Rumplestiltskin allowed, “but it would be a dangerous undertaking, and not advisable for anything less than dire circumstances. Yes, I know how. No, I am not going to tell you. As I said, it is a dangerous undertaking and should only be contemplated in dire circumstances. Seeking to return to the the world we came from does not, in my reckoning, count as dire circumstances.”

Three hours later, Rumplestiltskin sagged gratefully onto one of the couches in his living room at home, satisfied with the way he had explained to the masses that there wasn't any magic in Storybrooke, but the potential existed, and there were magical items secreted in more than a couple of little nooks and crannies. He was also satisfied that and no one wanted to risk these objects being done away with. Just in case.

Well, the clerics wouldn't have minded all that much, but even they wanted the status-quo to remain as it was. After all, as it was, there was still a chance that a way back to their homes in the Enchanted Forest could be made or found.

“I feel like I've spent the day repeating myself,” he groused tiredly.

Belle hummed in amusement, pressed a soft kiss to his hair, and moved into the kitchen to make tea.

“When you're done,” she said as she set the tea tray between them, “I'll draw you a bath, and give you a massage,” she promised.

“You, my darling Belle, are entirely too good to me,” Rumplestiltskin said with a grateful sigh as he watched her pour the tea through hooded eyes.

“Maybe I think you deserve it,” Belle countered with a smile.

~oOo~  
  


The sounds of U2 slowly built, coming in a slightly tinny quality from Belle's pocket as she dusted the shop – it was truly a daily task.

“ _I have climbed... highest mountain. I have run... through the fields. Only to be with you. Only to be with you. I have run... I have crawled... I have scaled these city walls -”_

Belle cut the music off by answering.

“Neal,” she said, and made a mental note to change the man's ringtone. U2's _I still haven't found what I'm looking for_ no longer seemed quite as appropriate any more, not now that he was actually properly reconciling with his father, his son, and Emma. For that matter, she'd probably better change Emma's designated ringtone as well. The theme song that The Rembrants famously did for the tv show _Friends_ would probably suit the sheriff more now. She'd give Neal something Kid Rock had recorded... 

Not the point.

“What occasions the call?” Belle asked.

“ _Has Papa got any places for rent that are more suited to a family? My apartment is a bit small for two, never mind three,”_ Neal said, and there was a hint of a smile in his tone.

Belle couldn't help but place one hand on her hip – even though she knew he wouldn't see it.

“And you didn't call your father and ask him directly because...?” she questioned, and turned just enough to be able to look across the shop to where Rumplestiltskin was.

Neal's laughter came through the earpiece of her phone.  _“Because you're the one that does all his filing and actually knows everything?”_ he suggested.

Belle hummed and hopped down from the stool she was stood on. “Just because I'm the one that does all of his filing doesn't mean he doesn't know it all as well,” she countered as she crossed the shop to her master. “He's got a mind like a steel trap, your father, though the curse messed with it a bit, and since waking up he's had to pretend otherwise as Mr Gold. He could tell you off the top of his head. I'll have to look it up.”

“What's he want?” Rumplestiltskin asked with a smile.

“A place big enough for his family,” Belle answered, and passed the phone over to him.

“Hey Son,” Rumplestiltskin greeted softly.

Belle smiled softly for him. One of the many compromises between father and son was that Rumplestiltskin would call his son by the name he used now, rather than the name he'd had in their home world. Before the curse had been broken, before Neal had explained himself fully to Emma, that was a necessity. Rumplestiltskin was allowed to call his boy 'son', though only when those who knew would hear. At least, that was before the curse was broken.

Rumplestiltskin would respect all of the rules his son had requested of him though, even when it was possible they were no longer needed. He didn't want to ever risk driving his boy away. A little over three-hundred years of separation was quite enough.

“ _Hey Papa,”_ Neal answered. _“You got any family-sized apartments or homes available?”_

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. “In point of fact, I do,” he agreed. “As it happens, I've got three lovely places standing empty right now. The cleaning service I employ for the task will have gone over them last week, so they shouldn't be too dusty. Not much in the way of furniture though, I'm afraid.”

“ _That's fine,”_ Neal deferred. _“I can sort out furniture pretty quick. Just need somewhere to put it.”_

“Got a pen, Son?” Rumplestiltskin asked. “I'll give you the addresses, then any one you like the look of from a drive by you can come and get the keys for, and I'll give you a tour.”

“ _Sounds great. Okay, ready,”_ Neal said.

Rumplestiltskin proceeded to rattle off the addresses of the three houses he owned that were standing empty. One of them had only been recently vacated, actually. By Hansel and Gretel. He hadn't collected rent on the place ever. He knew the children couldn't pay rent, and even as Mr Gold he'd had a soft spot for children. They wouldn't have accepted help from him if he'd offered, but making sure that the amenities continued to work for the children, and that they did, at least, have somewhere to call home... That he could do.

The professional cleaners that he hired to maintain his properties had had a hell of a time with it though. Those two kids hadn't really had any cleaning skills, though thankfully the house was well-enough preserved by the curse. Still, one year's worth of grime (as opposed to twenty-eight) was still quite enough for the cleaning crew to deal with.

“ _Thanks Papa,”_ Neal said.

“It's always a pleasure to be able to do anything for you, my boy,” Rumplestiltskin answered with the greatest sincerity. “I'll see you when you come for the keys.”

Father and son said their goodbyes, and Rumplestiltskin returned Belle's phone to her.

“Care to tell me why you lied to my boy?” Rumplestiltskin asked, tone sharp though the words were softly spoken. “You know just as well as I do all my business.”

“Most of it, yes, and this matter certainly.” Belle agreed, “but then he would have gotten into the habit of calling me, not you. It would be like people in the Enchanted Forest coming to me when they needed to make a deal with you. It just doesn't make sense.”

Rumplestiltskin gave Belle a warm smile then. “Thank you,” he said softly. “On the subject of fathers though, and their children calling them... I notice that you haven't you called _your_ father yet, my dear,” he pointed out gently.

Belle blushed softly and caught her lip in her teeth. “I'll, uh, I suppose I probably should do that, now that he remembers, shouldn't I?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded. “You should,” he confirmed, though he was clearly unhappy and reluctant to say it. “Preferably before he attempts your abduction again,” he added with a scowl.

Moe French had made bail shortly after being arrested, though there were a few quiet questions about where the money to pay that sum had come from – it certainly hadn't come from Rumplestiltskin, nor from Belle. In any event, he was just about under house-arrest instead of being locked up in a cell at the station.

Belle gave Rumplestiltskin a look of mixed amusement and frustration. Moe French had, granted, helped Regina instead of his daughter when he'd burgled Mr Gold's house, but he hadn't exactly been her father at the time.

Then again, King Maurice was the sort of man that would resort to kidnapping her if he thought he wouldn't be able to get her “away from the clutches of the Dark One” any other way. He had, in fact, sent more than a few knights to the Dark Castle those first few years in a bid to 'rescue' her, completely disregarding the letter she'd left for him where she'd told him not to. She was fairly sure he'd given her up for dead when the knights sent on “rescue missions” finally stopped banging on the door.

“I'll call him,” Belle agreed. “If he grovels and apologises enough, then maybe I'll suggest we get something to eat at Granny's while you show Neal, Emma and Henry around the houses. I need to talk to Emma as well actually, arrange a time to have a private little word with her majesty.”

“Private?” Rumplestiltskin repeated with a hint of amused incredulity. “With the surveillance system we have in place at the station?”

“Well, of course you and Emma at least will want to be flies on the wall, but if it's just me, I can tell Regina I turned everything off before going over,” Belle explained. “It will be a lie, and you know the password for my laptop to get into the surveillance program. You'll record it for me, won't you?” she requested sweetly. “I'd like to be able to give my performance a good critique afterwards.”

Rumplestiltskin laughed, and snagged her about the waist with his free arm.

“I love you,” he told her as he happily buried his face in the thick brown curls that were tucked behind her ear.

Belle smiled and turned in his embrace just enough so that she could kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you too,” she said with a blissful grin.

They separated, and Belle called her father.

By her reckoning, he didn't grovel or apologise anywhere near enough. Then again, he'd barely made any effort in that direction, and instead had only attempted to defend and excuse his actions to her. He had also attempted to convince her that she could – and therefore should – leave her employer/master. She hadn't bothered to explain to him that Rumplestiltskin's deals still held, even in this world. It would have been a waste of breath. There would be no reconciliation between Belle and her father any time soon, it seemed.

~oOo~

“Regina,” Belle greeted as she stepped into the station. Emma was at that very moment at the pawnshop, watching the security footage with Rumplestiltskin. Neither one wanted to miss a second of whatever it was that the beauty had planned.

“Miss French,” the Queen-come-mayor answered shortly.

Belle perched herself on the edge of one of the desks, so that she had a clear view of the jailbird while not being anywhere near her reach.

“You really are very lucky, you know,” Belle commented.

“I'm in a cell,” Regina snarled. “How is that lucky?”

“You're still alive, and you're not suffering all that much,” Belle answered at once. “Right now, you're even free to say any damn thing you like, because I turned off the surveillance system here in the station before I came over. Regina, you stole me away from Rumplestiltskin. You really should know better than most just how possessive he can be. The only reason you're not in rather a lot of pain right now is because I convinced him that I have first rights to revenge over what you did to me.”

Regina tried for a smugly assured little smile. “I guess I'm safe then,” she quipped.

Belle raised an eyebrow at the woman. “You think so?” she asked, incredulous.

“Miss French, you couldn't hurt a fly,” Regina declared, sure of herself. “Such a devoted, innocent little thing you are,” she cooed mockingly.

“Such a senile, blind old thing _you_ are,” Belle countered. “I left my father's castle, and the sheltered life of a princess that Snow was raised in, at thirteen. Snow was still part of that life at eighteen. _I_ was raised by Rumplestiltskin, with just a tiny bit of input from you in that first year, back when you were broken hearted, but not quite vengeful. Really, you think I'm innocent? Only in the sense that I'm still a virgin, dearie,” she corrected the woman frankly, showing all of her teeth in a very pointed smile as she borrowed Rumplestiltskin's near trademark form of address.

For a heartbeat of a moment, there was a flicker of concern in Regina's eyes then, but she suppressed it quickly.

“And what, exactly, are you going to do to me?” Regina asked cautiously, though she masked the caution with sarcasm.

Belle laughed. “I'm much too smart to do anything direct. My master taught me well. My plans are already in motion.”

Regina sneered. “You haven't done a thing yet, and you won't either,” she asserted. “You haven't the first clue –”

“Henry,” Belle said.

Regina paled, and the superior expression cracked and fell away. “What have you done to my son?” she demanded.

“Really, _Mayor Mills_ , you know what happens in situations like this. You're Henry's only legal guardian, and you just got thrown into a cell. You will be sentenced, I can promise you that. A nice, lengthy stay in a prison cell, neatly arranged by Mr Gold, who is a very good lawyer, and the judge. Meanwhile, the child will be relocated... But a boy with an imagination as active as Henry's, with his background, he'd be in and out of foster homes for the next eight years. That's if he didn't run away from social services the way he did from you, and who knows where he might end up then?”

“No!” Regina objected. “No, you can't just send my son into the system!” Her eyes were wide and frantic. Then she took a deep breath and calmed down. “The Sheriff wouldn't allow it...” she asserted, but horror lit her dark eyes.

“No,” Belle agreed. “She wouldn't. But I think you've just realised exactly what it's going to take to keep Henry out of the system. He wouldn't be _your_ son any more. I've actually already started the paperwork. By the end of the day, he will legally be Henry Cassidy. He's already been staying with his father since you were arrested. I have no doubt that he'll soon be living with _both_ of his biological parents. My master has taken the little family out to look at some of the empty houses he owns around Storybrooke.”

“Henry...” Regina breathed, eyes glassy with tears at the same time as they burned with hate for the woman on the other side of the bars.

“Isn't yours,” Belle finished. “And really, I _could_ have just let him go into the system. His single, adopted mother is going to be sent to prison, after all.”

“You wouldn't,” Regina protested. “Rumple wouldn't.”

“I danced with Rumplestiltskin at Cinderella's wedding, which was where he told her he would be taking her first-born child as payment for granting her wish and changing her life, and I smiled all night long,” Belle countered pointedly, a light of fond remembrance in her eyes and a small smile dancing at the corners of her lips. “Knowing that, do you really think that I wouldn't? But then, there's another reason to see Henry with his birth parents instead of the system.”

“And what's that?” Regina asked, taking the bait obediently, even though all she wanted to do was curl up and cry already.

“That sweet boy is Rumplestiltskin's grandson,” Belle enlightened and smiled, totally satisfied.

Regina's mouth fell open in shock.

“You said it once yourself Miss Mills,” Belle reminded the woman calmly. “My master may not be the best choice of 'friend', but he does make a superlative enemy, and I learned so very much from him over the years,” she said with a smile, and rose from where she rested on the edge of the desk to stand again. She reached into her handbag before she took a step though, and withdrew a clear plastic bag.

A bag that had a black, at least half-rotted apple in it.

“From your tree,” Belle offered, and tossed it through the bars to land on the bed beside the ex-queen. “Enjoy, and do remember that my master and I are not nearly done yet,” she bid, and left the station without once looking back.

~oOo~

“Did you really do that?” Henry asked when Belle returned to the shop where Rumplestiltskin, and Emma had been watching the security feeds from the station – and had been joined by Neal and Henry not long into the little interview.

“The bit about Cinderella's wedding?” Belle asked.

“No, well, yes, but I meant the part about me being Henry Cassidy instead of Henry Mills,” the boy clarified.

“I've collected all the paperwork to make it so,” Belle said, “and I've filled in what I can, but your parents need to sign in a few places, and then you'll be legally theirs.”

“Both of us?” Emma asked. “Even though...”

“Emma,” Neal cut her off gently, and took her hands in both of his. “Everything is crazy right now, but I want to marry you,” he said. “We've got a house picked out to move into, we are a few signatures away from having our son in a permanent fashion, and I know that I'm never going to love anybody else the way I love you. I'd love to get married today, with just you, me, Henry, and the judge. I'd be just as happy to give you the big white wedding that will take six months to plan. You deserve the full princess treatment. You are a princess, after all. Please Emma Swan, will you make me the happiest man alive and become my wife? Take my name?”

Emma blinked back the tears that had suddenly glassed her eyes, and her smile trembled.

Rumplestiltskin shared a smile with Belle across them, and moved to fetch out all the rings he had so that they could pick out one for Emma's finger. She hadn't actually verbalised a 'yes' yet, but her head was beginning to bobble up and down in a small, but blissfully happy, affirmative.

“So, royal wedding? Just a judge? Something in between?” Rumplestiltskin asked jovially as he set the rings down on the counter to be chosen from.

“Mary Margaret might have Emma's head if she didn't get to help plan a wedding,” Belle pointed out. “She'll be much worse now that she knows she's actually Emma's mother. To say nothing of the way Charming would come barging in here, looking for his sword, so that he can go after Neal.”

Neal and Emma both winced at that.

“Well, definitely not a _royal_ wedding,” Emma protested, “and I don't think I can really get away with a white dress.”

“Every bride gets a white dress,” Rumplestiltskin protested. “Your mother was already pregnant with you when she and Charming were wed. She wasn't showing at the time, but pregnant all the same, and the dress was white anyway.”

Belle frowned. “We didn't go to that wedding,” she said, confused over how he could know such a thing.

“Snow's wedding dress is in Henry's book, and despite the details it got wrong, I'm prepared to trust the jellyfish's editing on the matter of Snow's dress,” Rumplestiltskin explained away with a dismissive wave. “Well, pick a ring!” he prompted the couple. “Free of charge, since you're family,” he added with a smile.

Neal laughed, and bent to look over the selection. A single, small, rectangular, slightly-yellow diamond attached to a plain silver band was his choice and he presented it to Emma with that same cheeky, boyish smile he'd worn when he picked up a map of the country in a motel room and told her to point. He slipped the ring onto her finger – it fit perfectly – and as soon as it was snug at the base of the correct digit, Emma threw her arms around him.

“I'll get the wedding bands made by the jeweller for you, since I'm presently not spinning gold,” Rumplestiltskin offered. “How do you feel about being ring-bearer, Henry?”

The boy grinned – and as both his father and grandfather were grinning ear-to-ear as well, suddenly the family resemblance was much more striking. That smile had been passed down through the generations.

“Cool!” he said happily.

“Even if you're gonna have to wear a suit?” Emma teased lightly, a smile of her own in place.

Henry shrugged. “Well... I've never exactly been allowed to just wear t-shirts before, except as part of the sports uniform for school,” he pointed out, just a little grudgingly. “I can handle it... Can... can Grace be a flower girl?” he asked hopefully.

Every adult quietly smiled at the very sweet ten-year-old crush.

“Sure Kid,” Emma agreed. “What about you, Belle? Will you help me with the dress?” she asked, turning to the brunette.

Belle snorted indelicately before she could stop herself, and hastily covered her mouth and nose so that she could stifle her laughter.

“The only fancy dress Belle has worn since signing herself over to be my assistant is the one that I made for her to wear to Cinderella's wedding, and I'm fairly sure she didn't own any fancy dresses before she bound herself to my employ either,” Rumplestiltskin explained with an equally amused smirk. “Belle hates needlepoint and has simple taste. Nothing at all like her peers among the royalty.”

“I know what looks good,” Belle said, her fit of scoffing under control. “But I'm really not the person to consult for a wedding dress. My master, on the other hand,” she trailed off with a smirk that was directed at Rumplestiltskin. “You've clothed plenty of royals in the past, after all,” she teased him lightly.

Rumplestiltskin huffed softly in amusement. “Yes,” he agreed, his lips twisted wryly. “That I have, though I did tend to do it with magic. The only royal garment I actually made the traditional way was the cloak I made you for your twentieth birthday,” he directed at Belle, “and even that had golden thread in it that I'd spun from straw.”

“I think I'll just buy a dress,” Emma protested, clearly attempting to bring an end to that particular discussion.

“You should ask Snow White to help,” Henry suggested with an eager smile.

“Lad, I don't think your mother's ideas of what make a good wedding dress will quite match up with what _her_ mother thinks makes a proper bridal trousseau,” Rumplestiltskin said with a knowing smirk. “Their tastes are rather different.”

“Pretty sure Mary Margaret didn't even own a pair of jeans before I forced her to buy some,” Emma grumbled in agreement.

~oOo~

Before the wedding could take place though, there was the matter of the disposition of Regina, and, for that matter, of Maurice. Emma had stopped the mob that Whale had gotten all worked up on the basis that, while they lived in this world, they would abide by its laws. This in turn meant that Regina (and Maurice) would be _tried_ by those laws.

And Rumplestiltskin would be prosecuting.

After all, Mr Gold was one of the very few people in town who had a law degree, and for all that those memories were created by the curse, they were still real enough.

From the defendant's stand – where a cage had been erected for everybody's safety, Regina's included – the former mayor got to witness the revenge of Rumplestiltskin against her for kidnapping his assistant. For breaking the deal she'd made, back in that dungeon, where she had agreed that Belle could stay with him.. that she wouldn't interfere with _any_ of his deals.

The trial for Regina was long and drawn out, but then, the litany of charges being levelled against her was not short... And Snow White couldn't beg mercy for her step-mother this time. They were doing it by the book.

Prison, however, when Regina was sentenced to it, would be the 'asylum' where she had attempted to hide Belle away. The security would be increased, but that was where she would be kept.

Along with the prison sentence, all of Regina's property was seized. The house joined Mr Gold's extensive property portfolio, while everything within said would be taken, sold, and the money split between the other offended parties and the city itself. Regina's bank account would likewise be split.

The only things in the world Regina would have would be an orange jumpsuit, a pair of slip-on shoes, a sports-bra and a pair of panties.

In deference to Henry and Snow White, Regina was permitted visitors – but they would have to remain on the other side of her door and would only be able to speak to her through the slot in the door through which meals would be delivered.

Maurice would be in the cell a few doors down from her, and like Regina, visitors were allowed – provided they didn't mind talking to him through the slot in his cell door – and his sentence was shorter than Regina's was, though that by no means meant the sentence was a short one.

The former king (and former flower-shop owner) may have been manipulated by Regina into robbing Mr Gold and kidnapping Belle, but the problem was that he had actually done it. Followed through with the suggestion. As such, and because they were doing this by the book, he couldn't escape his sentence any more than Regina could.

Rumplestiltskin was quietly, darkly, satisfied with how it all turned out.

Next to be dealt with, there were elections to be held, and a new mayor to be chosen. And Emma's wedding to Neal, of course.

~oOo~

The wedding was an ultimately simple affair that took place two months after Neal proposed – despite objections from the Blue Fairy, who had finally dared to show her face when the wonderful news was announced to the town at large. The bug had been all protestation that no child of a family she was patron fairy to could or would marry the son of the Dark One, and that Pinocchio was a much better choice. Never mind that he'd turned half-way back into wood again before the curse broke and that – at least at present – nothing would fix that.

And no, Rumplestiltskin did not deign his situation dire enough to warrant bringing magic to Storybrooke. He was only wood up to his thighs. All his vital organs still worked. It had stopped progressing. His life was in no danger and he could still walk – and a damn sight better than Rumplestiltskin himself could at that, which irritated the man every time he spared a moment to think about it.

Upon learning of the attempted interference by the Blue Fairy though, Emma had slapped the over-sized jellyfish down hard (literally as well as figuratively, much to the shock of Snow and Charming both, to say nothing of the reaction of Reul Ghorm herself), and gotten her way. Not just with Neal for her groom, but with the wedding in general as well.

There would be no royal weddings for Emma Swan, thank you very much. The dress did end up looking a little bit like something out of a fairy tale, but that and the tiara that held her veil in place were the only concessions to her status as a princess. Her father walked her down the aisle, Henry was ring-bearer, Grace was a delighted flower girl, and Neal had asked Jefferson to be his best man after getting to know him during all the wedding preparations.

Snow White cried, but she was also smiling as she watched the vows being exchanged.

Rumplestiltskin was a little put out that he wasn't standing with his son, but he had his own place as father of the groom, at least, and Jefferson was an excellent friend to have. Also, unlike Snow, he managed to hold his tears in check, through the whole ceremony and reception. The proud smile would not be wiped from his face though.

“You two, Henry, and Mr Booth are the only ones that can come and go from Storybrooke as you please,” Rumplestiltskin said softly to Emma and Neal at the reception, emotions finally completely under control once more. “You can have a real honeymoon if you want, and I'd be willing to pay, if money is the only thing stopping you,” he offered.

“I don't exactly have a deputy that I could leave in charge of the place while I'm gone,” Emma pointed out. “It might be in the budget, but...”

“I recommend Ruby for the position,” Belle suggested from the other side of her master. “Or Leroy.”

“Both rather busily occupied elsewhere, love,” Rumplestiltskin reminded her before he once again turned once more to his son... and his new daughter-in-law. “Though there's any number of ex-castle guards who could take over for a little while. Not exactly bastions of authority, but they'd manage well enough. Just don't appoint Nottingham. And don't worry about Henry,” he advised them with a smile. “That's what grandparents are for, minding and doting on the children while the parents go off and have some time to themselves.”

“I think we just want to be shut away in our new home with no interruptions or demands from the outside world for a week,” Neal said.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. “Sorry son,” he said, “but I can't put up a barrier spell to keep everybody out while there's no magic.”

Neal shrugged. “Maybe you could threaten to raise rent if anybody makes a peep for the next week instead,” he suggested with a smirk.

Emma slapped his shoulder, disapproving, but the way smile and frown both fought for dominance over her face showed she wasn't truly outraged.

“It was just a joke!” Neal protested at once.

The smile finally won over the frown, and she pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “Good,” she said firmly. “Really though Pops -”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. Since Neal called him Papa, and Emma had accepted that marrying her man meant taking _him_ for her father-in-law, she'd taken to calling him Pops. The look of pain on her parent's faces the first time they'd heard – at which point she had yet to call either of them any variant of 'mother' or 'father' at all – had been in equal parts heartbreaking and incredibly amusing to the old sorcerer.

“- we don't need a honeymoon somewhere else. If you want to mind Henry a couple of nights this week though, we wouldn't say no,” Emma finished with a slightly sheepish, hopeful smile.

“I'll make up a room for him that can be just his any time you two want some privacy,” Belle volunteered, tone soft but words firm. She would do this. There was only one person who could tell her not to, and she was pretty sure he wasn't going to.

Rumplestiltskin nodded silently in approval. No, he wasn't going to tell her not to. They already set up a room in the house for Neal to use if needed (and Emma too, by proxy, though she'd likely never use it, ever). Setting one up for Henry now was just sense. The boy was family, and Rumplestiltskin was the only member of the boy's family who wouldn't be doing embarrassingly adult things in his bed any time soon.

He and Belle were still taking things slowly, and for all that they've had so many years of memories of this world, well, Rumplestiltskin was old-fashioned back in the Enchanted Forest (the affair with Cora notwithstanding, and even that was mostly just kisses and a few flutteringly near-intimate touches, but always fully clothed). When Rumplestiltskin raised Belle, he taught her those same values he held himself to, so she was a bit old-fashioned as well, quite apart from the education she received from her governess as a child as to the proper behaviour and comportment of a princess. Rumplestiltskin intended to put Belle in a white wedding dress some day (and would blackmail whoever he needed to so that her father could walk her down the aisle if she wanted him to), and he intended that the symbolism would still hold true when that day eventually came.


	14. Chapter 14

Ruby had agreed to step up to the plate and take over running the sheriff's office for Emma while she had her 'honeymoon', shut up in the house with Neal and no interruptions. Running the office and actually taking on the role of deputy/acting sheriff/whatever though... well, people were on their best behaviour, so nothing more than fielding phone calls about loud neighbours (and/or their dogs) was actually needed.

It seemed that trouble had decided to wait until Emma was back on duty again before it, quite literally, sailed into town.

On a pirate ship.

On a pirate ship that was all too familiar to Rumplestiltskin, though he'd not seen it for the better part of three-hundred years. The people who stepped down off the ship's gangway were even more familiar as he narrowed his eyes at the surveillance footage.

The percentage of the docks that was property of Mr Darcy Gold was not small, so it was hardly a surprise that, upon reaching the docks, the ship had berthed at one owned by him. Still, it felt like a slap in the face that the pair hadn't had the decency to weigh anchor at one of the few that belonged to someone else, even if they didn't know.

The reason he was looking was because Henry had run into the shop, full-tilt and almost straight from school, saying he'd seen someone _new_ in town, and they had a _hook_ for one hand. Belle had immediately grabbed Mr Gold's gun (just in case), taken Henry's hand, and walked with the boy to Granny's. There, Ruby and the old battleaxe that was Granny would be able to keep the lad safe while Neal and Charming were at work, Emma was on patrol around the town in the squad car, and Snow was busy either packing up her classroom or setting up her new office – all of them as yet unaware of the threat that had just sailed into town. Belle had never met Killian Jones, but she'd dusted his severed hand enough times that she'd been able to wheedle pretty much the whole of the story out of Rumplestiltskin without too much difficulty.

In fact, the first time it had twitched while she was dusting it, and she'd given a yelp of surprise, Rumplestiltskin had shared the essential parts of the story. Every time after that, he'd share a few more of the details in regards to how he'd come to have that hand in his collection, and how he'd met the pirate.

That hand was one of many things that hadn't been brought through by the curse. Just as well, really. It would be a bit hard to explain to anybody who came poking around the shop.

Rumplestiltskin had to smirk to himself though, despite his displeasure at the sight of these particular new arrivals in town. Cora had attempted to use magic practically the second she was off the ship, and the expression on her face when she realised her magical impotence... It wasn't perfectly clear on the surveillance footage – the cameras out at the docks weren't quite as good as the ones installed in various buildings throughout the town – but Rumplestiltskin knew the woman well enough that he could make up for it.

The shock. The confusion. The wide-eyed horror. The rage. The wonderfully impotent rage. He closed his eyes to fix that in his mind, to savour it while it was fresh.

Even if the footage itself was actually an hour old.

With a sigh, Rumplestiltskin saved the piece of footage as a short video file and emailed it off to the sheriff, along with a description of the two characters it showed. He'd just clicked the 'send' button when the bell over the shop door chimed, and the door itself banged loudly. Rumplestiltskin looked up from the computer and swallowed tightly.

There was Jones, all angry and young and strong, with his only infirmity being the lack of hand – and that had been replaced by a very shiny hook that he no doubt kept very sharp.

“Tick tock,” the pirate growled as he rounded the counter, moving faster than Rumplestiltskin could with his limp back again. “Time's up, Crocodile,” Jones declared fiercely as he plunged his hook into Rumplestiltskin's chest.

Not into his heart, and that probably more by luck than design, but it was certainly painful.

“You took Milah. My love, my happiness,” he hissed as he wrenched the hook out of Rumplestiltskin's flesh again and held it aloft. “And for that, I now take your life.”

_Bang_ .

“Argh!”

“The hell you will,” Belle growled as the pirate fell, Mr Gold's gun in her hands and blood flowing from the middle of the pirate's back as he collapsed onto the floor. “Sire?” she called hopefully as she lowered the weapon and rushed around the counter to him.

Rumplestiltskin pulled his shirt aside to look at the wound.

“Damn,” he breathed with a grimace. “Dreamshade. Don't even think of sucking the poison out, Belle,” he warned. “You'd just poison yourself as well and I'd be no better off. No cure exists outside of Neverland.”

“Which means you never thought you'd need a cure for it,” Belle guessed, desperately trying for calm and wry, even as her master was dying in front of her.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “An oversight on my part, it now seems,” he noted.

“Well, it looks like I've got to face a dragon,” Belle declared softly.

“Belle?” Rumplestiltskin asked, eyes wide.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You don't seriously think I'm just going to let you die, do you?” she demanded gently. “I swore to serve you for the rest of _my_ life, not the rest of yours,” she reminded him with a smile. A smile that let him know that she was motivated by the care she held for him more than the contract she signed, but the latter was still relevant.

“Belle, Cora's here too,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.

“Saints on fire and Peter Pan in the bloody nursery,” Belle grumbled, then sighed. “Alright, well, I'm going to take you home at least. Then I'll start getting everything cleaned up. You're not going to die too quickly, right?” she checked.

“I should have a few hours at least,” Rumplestiltskin confirmed. “Longer if I don't do anything strenuous.”

Belle nodded. “Okay. We can get through this,” she avowed, and helped her master to his feet, and out to the car.

~oOo~

Once Belle had settled her master on one of the couches in the living room – it was on the ground floor, and the bedrooms were all upstairs – she locked the front door of the house and headed out to the car. She'd called the hospital before she even reached the car door.

“ _Storybrooke General Hospital,”_ greeted the voice of the receptionist.

“Could you please send an ambulance around to Mr Gold's pawnshop?” Belle requested. “There should be a man on the floor there with a bullet hole in his back.”

“ _What?!”_ yelped the woman on the other end of the line.

“Well, he'd just shoved a pointed metal implement into Mr Gold's chest,” Belle defended as she slid into the driver's seat. “I think I was very restrained in not shooting him in the head.”

“ _R-right,”_ the woman agreed tremulously. _“I'll... I'll send an ambulance right over. Will... will Mr Gold also be...?”_

“I've got that under control,” Belle assured the woman as she started the car. “Please let Sheriff Swan know about the incident though,” she requested before she hung up, and backed the car out of the driveway.

She needed to collect a sword from the pawnshop before she went down to face Maleficent, and she needed to collect a couple of other things as well.

Belle arrived at the shop before the ambulance. It seemed the receptionist was in too much shock at the idea of a shooting to have alerted the relevant people all that fast. Then again, Jones was still bleeding and groaning on the floor, so it wasn't too much of a problem just now. As far as she was concerned anyway. It would be a pain to mop up the blood later, but it was hardly a priority right this very moment.

Belle moved passed him quickly, out to the back room, and grabbed a tiny key from a drawer. She slipped it into an otherwise empty pocket of her purse, and headed back out to the main floor of the shop. She considered the swords that were kept in a bin in one corner, toyed briefly with the idea of taking Charming's, which was in a case on a shelf above all the other swords, but ultimately decided to take the one strapped to Hook's side. He'd tried to put Rumplestiltskin in his grave. It was only right, as far as Belle was concerned, that his sword be used to help save him. That is, if negotiation failed her.

The ambulance arrived.

Belle moved quickly to one of the picture frames, and pulled it back to reveal a little hidden compartment, with a dual-ended candle resting on a stand. The gems around the middle of the candle – one end white, the other black – were as red as ever. Belle didn't even hesitate in shoving the candle into her purse. She was careful not to damage it though.

The paramedics entered the shop and Belle pointed them to where Jones was slowly bleeding to death before exiting the shop.

“Belle?” Leroy/Grumpy called, curiosity and confusion in his voice. “What's going on? Has something happened?”

“Leroy, could you do me a quick little favour?” Belle asked.

The dwarf frowned. “What sort of favour?” he questioned cautiously, eyes lingering on the sword that Belle was carrying.

“I just need you to work an old elevator for me,” Belle answered. “I need to get something from the library basement, but the lift can only be worked from outside.”

“I can do that,” Leroy agreed easily. He followed Belle to the car, and slid into the passenger side even as Belle tossed the sword into the back and climbed into the driver's seat. “What will I get in return for this favour?” he asked, just a little cheekily, but intensely conscious of the sword that was on the back seat.

“Not sure yet,” Belle answered shortly, and flashed the dwarf a very quick, quite tense, smile. She appreciated the effort, but she really wasn't in the mood for jokes right now. “I'll owe you one.”

Leroy shook his head. “Don't worry about it,” he dismissed. “I was really just kidding.”

Belle parked the car in front of the library. It wasn't far between the shop and the library, but every second counted, as far as Belle was concerned. Rumplestiltskin said he had a few hours before the dreamshade killed him, but Belle knew that he would be in excruciating pain in the meantime.

She left her purse in the car, beneath the seat where no one would see it, grabbed the sword, and then she and Leroy headed into the library.

Lacking the correct key, Belle just broke the lock to get them in. She'd pay damages later. Or maybe fix it with magic. After all, she was about to bring magic to Storybrooke.

She got into the lift, and Leroy lowered it.

“Maleficent!” Belle called out as she strode out of the elevator. “Maleficent! I know you're down here! You've got something that I need!”

A large, black, reptilian head rose out of the shadows.

“Maleficent, I am Belle, princess of Avonlea and the Marshlands, and servant to the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin. You have something that I need,” she said firmly as she stared up at those large green eyes. “And I'd just as soon not have to kill you for it.”

The large head lowered, the eyes narrowed, and the teeth were bared.

“You can't transform back,” Belle noted, “because there is no magic in this land, but you're just as intelligent under those scales as ever. You were visited by a prince, back in your castle, before Regina cast the curse. He had a golden egg with him. What did he do with it?”

Maleficent, despite the scales and snout, clearly wore an expression in that moment that demanded to know why she should be helpful at all.

“I need it to bring magic back to this land,” Belle said.

Maleficent turned her great head to the side, and fanned out the scales around her neck.

Belle reached in and grabbed the glinting gold she could see through the orange glow of heat there – and hissed in pain at the burns she got for her troubles. But she had the egg.

“Thank you,” she said, backed into the lift, the golden egg cradled against her stomach.

“You needed a sword to get that out of the basement?” Leroy asked when he saw the ornate egg in Belle's arms.

“The sword was a precautionary measure,” Belle explained with a smile, glad she hadn't actually needed to kill Maleficent for it. She would have if she needed to, if Maleficent's mind had been lost from twenty-eight years in that form and with no socialisation, but killing the dark fairy wasn't necessarily the most practical thing to do. “Thanks Leroy.”

“Any time,” the dwarf agreed, still confused, but he left her on her own after that as Belle hustled straight to the car. The egg went into her purse with the key and the candle, and Belle drove out to the cemetery.

Regina kept more than just Graham's heart in her vault, if Belle remembered correctly, and she was pretty damn sure that she did.

Belle pushed aside the casket of Henry Mills and ran down the steps as fast as she could without breaking her own neck. When she reached Regina's vault, she took a deep, calming breath, and started searching systematically for what she'd gone there looking for.

A case full of boxes, but Belle only wanted one particular box. A glowing red light shone out, but between glowing pulses, the heart was clearly black all over.

Belle shut the box again, and hurried back out of the vault with it, and took the car as far out into the woods as she could get it. Out in the direction of the old wishing well. The well that was filled with the waters of Lake Nostos.

When she was unable to take the car any further, Belle grabbed her purse and the heart out of the box.

“Come to me,” Belle called softly as she squeezed the heart – but not too hard – in one hand as she jogged along the faint trail through that led through the woods to the well. “Come, come little witch, old and shrivelled bitch, owner of this black-painted heart.”

Belle reached the well.

She placed the heart in her purse and took out the egg and the key. The key unlocked the egg, the egg opened to reveal a vial of glowing, glittering, purple potion. Belle uncorked the bottle and carefully dripped a little drop of the potion into the well, and re-corked the bottle quickly. Possibly all of the rest of True Love would be needed to bring magic to Storybrooke, but Belle was fairly sure just a drop or two would be enough.

On the other hand, with magic present in Storybrooke, it shouldn't be hard for Rumplestiltskin to make more of it. Again.

Slowly, purple smoke rose out of the well, it flowed up and over the sides like mist and rose above her like a cloud – and it moved outward.

Belle put the potion back in the egg, and the egg back in her purse, and the key along with them, then removed the candle and the heart from her purse once more. She focused on the feeling of power, on the magic that now swirled around her, and she breathed it in. It felt different here, in this world.

She'd lived for the better part of a decade in Rumplestiltskin's castle. She'd have to be thicker than a concrete slab, and more dull than lead, to not learn how to recognise what magic felt like – and here, it felt different. She'd have to adjust.

Belle focused.

Again, she called the one who owned the heart in her hand to come to her. Then she willed the wicks of the candle in her other hand to light.

Cora came. Two tiny flames slowly flickered to life at each end of the candle.

“Cora,” Belle whispered over the candle, over the heart she held below the candle.

Cora's eyes went wide in her face at the sight. She didn't know Belle, didn't understand how the girl could look at her with such ice in her blue eyes as she used the spell that Cora herself (disguised as the Blue Fairy) had once given to Snow White.

Belle blew out the flames at each end of the candle, and squeezed the heart in her hand again. Just enough to make Cora collapse to her knees.

“You know what I've done,” Belle informed the woman, almost pleasantly. “But I'm willing to put off your death a little while. I want you to tell me why you came here – and don't tell me you came for Regina. You and I both know you don't really give a damn about your daughter. After all, how can you? You ripped out your own heart because you thought emotions were weakness.”

“I want the power of the Dark One,” Cora answered through gritted teeth. With her heart in Belle's hand, she had to follow commands. Not to the extent that Rumplestiltskin did if someone had his dagger, but the compulsion, the control of the one holding the heart, was there all the same. “I intend to find his dagger and kill him, take the power for myself. As far as I was concerned, Jones poisoning Rumple was really just to slow him down so that he couldn't fight back at all when I eventually got the dagger.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at the older woman that was on her knees before her, and shoved the cursed heart into that hollow chest.

“ _So no one told you life was gonna be this way -”_

“Hey Emma,” Belle greeted as she brought the phone to her ear, a smile on her face to make sure there was one in her voice, even as she watched Cora dying on the ground in front of her.

“ _Regina's locked up, so it can't be her. Pops was, according to your own call to the hospital, stabbed by a character I've been reliably informed is Captain Killian 'Hook' Jones, so I can't think you'd let him be up and doing anything. That just leaves you,”_ Emma rattled off, and she sounded equal parts angry and nervous. _“What the hell was that cloud?”_

“Magic,” Belle answered, easily and instantly.

“ _Pops said that was to be brought to Storybrooke only in an emergency,”_ Emma recalled softly, and just a little sternly, though her voice also carried a hint of concern.

“Well, Captain Jones' hook was coated in a magical poison from another realm that there's no cure for. He was dying,” Belle explained.

“ _Was?”_ Emma checked.

“Pretty sure he's not any more, but I haven't had time to check between bringing the magic, performing the spell that ought to save him, and your call,” Belle admitted a little ruefully.

She heard Emma sigh down the line.

“ _How long before Regina uses magic to break out of her cell?”_ Emma demanded unhappily.

“Magic is different here to what she's used to, and Regina wasn't exactly my master's best student,” Belle offered with a private little smile that no one saw. No one living, anyway. Cora's eyes were frozen open in her death. “She'd be lucky to get one tumbler to turn over in a month, and that's if she's even aware that magic is back at all. If feels different, so if she didn't see the cloud, then she probably doesn't even know to try.”

“ _Fine, but if she gets out this side of Independence Day, and it wasn't because Sydney tried to break her out again -”_ the ex-genie had already made one go at it, and was currently in a holding cell awaiting trial for that. _“- then I'm holding you personally responsible.”_

“Gotcha,” Belle agreed with a chuckle. “But on the other hand, you should be perfectly capable of magic, likely more powerful magic than Regina, so if you study, she won't be a problem even if she ever does break out.”

“ _Great,”_ Emma grumbled. _“Study.”_

Belle laughed.

Emma said her goodbyes and hung up.

Belle did likewise, then she turned to the body of the dead woman in front of her and considered the prone, still, lifeless form. Cora had, once, been Rumplestiltskin's lover, sort of, and she'd given him joy, even if only for a little while. For that – and for no other reason at all – Belle would see the horrible woman interred beside her husband in the Mills crypt of this world, rather than simply incinerated where she lay and her ashes left there, forgotten in the middle of the woods.

~oOo~

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin greeted, voice soft, as she entered the lounge room. He was healed, but he was still tired, and hadn't moved. “Belle.”

“Master,” she answered with a smile. “I'm glad it worked.”

“It,” Rumplestiltskin repeated, a neutral inquiry. “Simply bringing magic back to Storybrooke wouldn't be enough to either cure me of the poison, or heal the wound from the hook, and certainly not both.”

Belle removed the candle from her purse in silent explanation.

“Belle...” he said softly, his eyes glistening with concern.

“Cora's dead,” Belle told him, and she didn't meet his eyes as she said it because she knew that, despite everything, all their many differences, her master would always have a little place in his heart for Cora. Belle returned the candle to her purse. “I interred her next to her husband before I came back... And, there's still some left over,” she added as she withdrew the golden egg and set it on the coffee table. “Just a few drops.”

Rumplestiltskin gaze fixed on the golden egg in such a way that it was possible he was seeing through it, through the protective casing to the little vial of True Love within.

“Who,” he asked tentatively, “did you send down to Maleficent?”

“I went myself,” she answered. “Leroy operated the lift for me.”

Rumplestiltskin snapped his eyes up to her then. “Princess Belle of Avonlea and the Marshlands, a dragon-slayer,” he said softly, utterly awed and retrospectively fearful. He could have lost her when she went to face Maleficent, after all.

Belle smiled sheepishly. “Nothing so dramatic,” she corrected with a shake of her head. “I mean, yes I had a sword with me, just in case, but I tried asking nicely first. Maleficent was really quite reasonable about the whole thing, though I did burn myself a little getting the egg out from where Charming had lodged it.”

“Where?” Rumplestiltskin demanded at once, and from the way his eyes were now scanning her person, it was clear he meant 'where have you been burned?' and not 'where did Charming put the egg?'.

Belle presented her hand to him, and with a gentle blow and an application of magic by her master, it was all healed up. Belle was glad for it. The burn had stung horribly, though she'd refused to let it slow her down. Getting a candle to light was a much easier magic than healing a burn – and she'd had quite enough difficulty with it out in the woods. Magic was emotion, after all, though the rules were ever-so-slightly different in this land. Regardless; to make fire, an emotion that burned and consumed was needed.

Most people went for anger to make fire with, but Belle was already going to be dipping her metaphorical toe into dark magic with the candle. She knew better than to overwhelm herself with too much darkness at once. It wasn't healthy. So she'd chosen a different passion.

Love. Love for her master, and the way it burned inside of her. The only man she was willing to kill for. Of course, for Rumplestiltskin, Belle would also kill to protect his family as well, but ultimately she would still only be killing only for his sake.

And even then she wouldn't kill indiscriminately.

She'd shot Jones in the back, after all. Not the head. Then again, dealing with a dead body in the shop, and dealing with a dead body in the woods, were two totally different things.

“Thank you,” Belle said softly as Rumplestiltskin gently stroked the now-healed skin of her previously burned hand.

“You saved my life, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin said earnestly. “Healing a burn is pittance in exchange.”

“Hmm,” Belle allowed neutrally. “So, dreamshade. I suppose you'll be working on an antidote for that, just in case there's a next time?” she checked.

“Definitely,” Rumplestiltskin agreed at once. “But... tomorrow, I think. I'm tired.”

Belle nodded in understanding. “Up to bed with you then, my precious master. Or would you like a bath first?” she offered.

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes a moment, and lost himself to contemplation. “I think I need a bath,” he decided, and gave a minute grimace at his current state.

Again, Belle nodded. She could see that Rumplestiltskin had become feverish in the short hours she had been apart from him. His shirt was completely soaked through, and his hair was damp and limp from sweat.

Belle leant over her master to kiss his brow – also sweaty – tenderly, and helped him up from the couch. Then she helped him up the stairs, and had him sit on a stool in the bathroom while she ran the water and added soothing salts. It was almost nostalgic.

Rumplestiltskin smiled tiredly, lovingly down at her as she knelt before him to remove his shoes and socks, the former of which she set aside, and the latter were sent to the laundry hamper. She rose up and unbuttoned his vest, then his shirt, and rather than hanging either, both were sent into the hamper with the socks. His top-coat and jacket were both downstairs, hanging by the door.

She gently pulled the ring that Mr Gold always wore – and that Rumplestiltskin had kept the habit of wearing – off his finger, and set it in a dish by the sink so that it wouldn't be lost.

Belle knelt again, and reached for her master's belt-buckle.

The well-tailored slacks that her master wore now were much easier to manage than the trousers he had been wearing the last time Belle had stripped him of his clothing and poured his wearied frame into the tub. He'd been wearing leather trousers that laced up the front and had a bright red lining to hide his golden skin back then.

In this land without magic, Belle had seen a great deal of her master's skin, human and pink as it was now, rather than gilded. This, however, was her first occasion to see  _ all _ of it since the last time she had assisted him into a bath, back in the Enchanted Forest. As she had then, Belle blushed at the sight. She didn't shyly avert her eyes though, neither did she hesitate to do as she had done then.

Belle worked up a lather in her hands, shampoo rather than soap now, and massaged it through her master's hair. Carefully she rinsed it, and then repeated her motions with the conditioner and rinsed that out as well.

Then she moved down to her master's neck and shoulders – and he groaned in appreciation.

Belle gave in to temptation when she had rinsed away the lather, and placed a tender, soft kiss to Rumplestiltskin's shoulder.

He sighed, and his eyes were closed, but he turned his head towards where she had planted that little kiss. “You are far too good to me,” he whispered with all the earnest sincerity of a prayer.

Belle just silently pressed another kiss to his freshly washed skin, and continued to tend to her master. The difference between this bath and the other – apart from indoor plumbing, the colour of her master's skin, and the lack of curls in his hair – was that, this time, Belle didn't stop her massage at just his arms.

Once she'd done his shoulders, back, arms and chest, Belle moved down to the other end of the tub and started at her master's feet. From there, she slowly worked her way up until she'd reached Rumplestiltskin's thighs.

Where she stopped. At his insistence.

“I intend to put a wedding ring on your finger before we go any further, dearie,” he said as he gently cupped her cheek in one hand, a tender, devoted look in his eyes.

Belle couldn't help smiling at that.

Rumplestiltskin smiled in answer to her smile. With a chuckle, he shook his head, and waved his hand – the one not cupping Belle's cheek – in a circular motion. A small purple cloud trailed after his fingers with the motion.

A black velvet box appeared in his hand.

“That said,” he continued with a hopeful little smile. “Belle, I am in awe of your courage. You faced a dragon on my behalf. You make an old coward like me want to be brave as well. Perhaps me reclining in the bath while you sit on a stool beside me isn't the most romantic setting, and we both know I'm not about to ask your father permission, but will you marry me?” he asked, and opened the little velvet box to reveal a slim, simple, white-gold engagement ring that matched the promise ring he'd given her back on Valentine's Day.

Belle smiled her sunshine beaming smile at him, took the ring from the box and slid it onto her soapy digit, and kissed him. Lips covered lips just so sweetly, a kiss full of blissfully contented love rather than lusty passion.

The sort of kiss that Disney had just about copyrighted as True Love's First Kiss. The kind that was all innocence, purity, sweetness and light, and of course love. The kind that was shy and tentatively begun, but very slowly parted from.

It would have broken the Dark One's curse, if it had been properly active enough to be able to be broken in this land.

“That's a yes then?” Rumplestiltskin guessed, his voice a mere breathless, elated whisper, when they parted.

Belle chuckled lowly. “Yes,” she confirmed happily. “That's a yes.”

~The End~


	15. Epilogue

“Did you know he had it in him?” Neal questioned softly as they walked.

Rumplestiltskin had sacrificed himself in front of the whole town to stop Pan. He'd said his goodbyes, then he'd summoned his shadow and his dagger, and he had embraced the boy who had once been his father, and he'd killed him. An act that saw the dagger piercing right through the slim teen and into Rumplestiltskin's own heart as well. The only way to kill Pan had been for Rumplestiltskin to die as well, and despite what Pan – and very nearly everyone else – had thought to the contrary, Rumplestiltskin was prepared to do just that.

He hadn't been able to stop the curse that Pan had launched, but between Belle, Emma and Maleficent, they were able to modify it significantly before Emma had to take Henry, Alexandra, and all three of the other kids that had been born in Storybrooke after the curse was broken, out of the little town so that they would be safe. The curse was only taking those who had been born in the Enchanted Forest after all – and while, technically, Emma had been too, she'd been sent to the land without magic within hours of being born, so she could have gone either way. She chose to stay behind and take care of her son, and the four infants, until such a time as they found a way to reunite all the families once more.

“Yes,” Belle answered, simply and surely. “He'd do anything for family. He took on the curse of the Dark One to protect you, and even though he was scared of the land without magic, he followed you there too. I never for a second doubted that he would,” she asserted as they pushed through the trees and finally came upon a clearing.

The clearing. The place where the first Dark One had been born. A dark, terrible place that was so covered in snow it was beautiful.

Belle took a deep breath, and reached into her satchel.

“This will really get my Papa back?” Neal asked. It had become something of a mantra for him, regularly asking for reassurances on this. He'd asked when Belle explained what she was doing, marching straight off to the Dark Castle without a word to anybody. He'd asked when they set out from the castle. Now they'd reached their destination, and he was asking again.

“It will,” Belle confirmed, and removed the two vital items that she had carried from the Dark Castle. The key to the vault of the Dark One, and the severed hand, still perfectly preserved – still, in fact, living and sending sensations to Captain Killian 'Hook' Jones.

Carefully, firmly, Belle planted the key into the palm of the severed hand, firm enough that the fingers did what all fingers did automatically when something was pressed to the palm. They closed around it.

Belle pulled off her scarf and tied the hand around the key to make certain that it would not be released. While she had been doing that, Neal had cleared some of the snow away and revealed the lock where the key had to be planted.

Belle and Neal shared a look – one full of determination to see this through. Either one of them might have been willing to sacrifice themselves to bring back Rumplestiltskin, but Belle had also pointed out that this would only break his heart, to return to them only to watch one or other of them die. So, the hand of another – conveniently kept all these years simply because Rumplestiltskin never threw anything away – was going to be used for this little ritual.

The key was forced in, and after a moment the fingers of the hand twitched and there was a smell of burning flesh, but it could not withdraw.

Neal and Belle, however, stepped back. The snow was melted away, what little Neal had left in that area, and the hand blackened and thinned until the scarf wasn't enough to hold it in place over the key, which slotted fully into the lock, and vanished there.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Belle called out as the opening of the vault sank, just enough for darkness to begin to ooze forth, and pool there. The darkness congealed, and rose, and it slowly began to form a body.

A familiar body, all dressed in black. Something that Rumplestiltskin hadn't really done all that often, prior to the curse and his suits in Storybrooke – and even then, he had always had some highlight of colour. The style and cut was familiar enough, though he'd generally worn it in golds and browns and reds, rather than this stark black that was so very sharp against the snow-covered backdrop of the clearing.

“Belle, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin breathed out the names like a prayer and stumbled away from the vault of the Dark One to the two most important people in his life.

“Papa,” Neal answered, and wrapped his arms around his father tightly.

Belle was right behind him, her eyes damp as she took in the sight of her master and fiance. They had, unfortunately, not had time to so much as set a date, let alone begin planning the wedding, when a couple of Pan's wretched minions had come to Storybrooke and kidnapped Henry... which had in turn led to Rumplestiltskin's eventual sacrifice.

“Well, well, well,” a voice purred from the other side of the clearing. “Little bookworm is smarter than I gave her credit for. Didn't even need the candle I was going to leave in the library to point you in the right direction.”

Belle tore her eyes away from Rumplestiltskin – and father and son broke their embrace – to find the person who had intruded upon them. She recognised the woman that she saw only from Rumplestiltskin's descriptions and Henry's book.

“Zelena,” Belle greeted neutrally. “I thought you were confined to Oz these days, since you gave some little cry-baby the shoes that would take her back to her home to the land without magic.”

The green-skinned witch sneered. “I've had twenty-eight timeless years and nothing better to do,” she pointed out. “Going from one magical realm to another is hardly difficult, especially when one of those realms is Oz, once you figure out how. Provided you're not taking much, that is.”

“True enough,” Belle allowed. “You mentioned a candle?”

“Oh nothing much,” Zelena said dismissively. “Just someone I turned into a candelabra. Not that you'd know he had ever been human if you didn't light the candles. I was going to put him in the library once you'd lowered the wards about the castle. For some reason, they wouldn't let me in,” she added with a light, mild-sounding thoughtfulness, though by the way her eyes burned dangerously as she said it, it was clear that particular detail annoyed her to no end.

“Is there something you _wanted_ , dearie?” Rumplestiltskin questioned, just a little sharply. “Your mother's dead, your sister, last I knew, was in prison. The way you're talking, I think you might be aiming to join one of them.”

Zelena blinked. “Regina's... in prison?” she repeated, surprised.

“Well, Snow might have changed that since we were all forced back here, but... yes, last we knew,” Belle agreed. “But that's not the point,” she continued. “If I'm reading between the lines right -”

“Considering it's you, that's practically a given,” Neal quipped.

“- then you were planning to see either Neal or myself dead in exchange for having my master brought back to life,” Belle stated.

Zelena shrugged in an uncaring manner, smirked in a satisfied sort of way, and even had the audacity to nod her head in arrogant confirmation.

“And he wouldn't have been able to hold onto the dagger _and_ whichever of you sacrificed yourself for him, and I know Rumple well enough to be pretty sure he'd give up the dagger to save a loved one,” Zelena purred. “And then I'd take it, and I'd have him, and he'd be all mine.”

Neal blinked.

“Very special sort of crazy,” he said, recalling how his father had once described the woman before him. He personally thought that was a good way to describe every woman in Regina's immediate (biological) family, from what he'd seen and heard.

“Mm,” Rumplestiltskin hummed in agreement with his son softly. “Unfortunately for you dearie, my princess is just too smart for you. Now, the only question really is: do you want to be turned into a snail, or a toad? That is, if my boy isn't going to object?” he corrected himself with a glance at his son.

“Just this once, I'll keep quiet about it,” Neal answered with a shake of his head.

Zelena scowled and disappeared in a green cloud before Rumplestiltskin could perform the transfiguration.

“Sire,” Belle called softly. “I haven't had my greeting yet,” she reminded him with a shy, flirtatious little smile on her face.

A soft look overtook Rumplestiltskin's inhuman eyes. “Even when I look like this?” he asked, stunned.

Belle laughed. “I fell in love with you when you looked like this in the first place,” she reminded him, and gladly took his hand – the one not holding his dagger – in hers.

“Belle...” Rumplestiltskin breathed in wonder. “You will never cease to amaze me. Just that you went through all this trouble to get me back...”

Belle lifted a finely shaped brow at him. “Master, I swore to serve you for the rest of _my_ life, remember?” she told him, just a little pertly. “Not just the rest of yours.”

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. “I love you,” he told her plainly.

Belle smiled back at him happily. “I love you too,” she answered.

Soft red lips met with dry, green-gold lips in a tender kiss.

Neal stared in awe as a rainbow ripple spread out from that point and overtook his father, leaving him looking completely human again.

“Damn,” he said, but he was fighting a smile.

The couple broke apart at the sound of his voice, and Belle's eyes went wide.

“Your curse -!” Belle gasped.

“Broken, it would seem,” Rumplestiltskin registered as he looked at the dagger in his hand. His name faded from where it had been inscribed for three centuries, and then the dagger faded away as well so that his hand was empty of the wicked blade. “But... my leg is still healed, and I can still feel magic.”

“Well, that wasn't going to change,” Belle pointed out reasonably. “You've been the most powerful sorcerer in the Enchanted Forest for three hundred years. Magic wasn't about to leave you. Just... it seems, the darkness.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked in wonder at that, then he barked out a laugh, then swept Belle up in his arms, and twirled her around with a great whoop of joy.

“True Love,” he said when he set her back on her feet. “True Love, after all these centuries... when I never thought I'd deserve it or find it... Belle,” he said, and he kissed her again.

Neal watched for a moment, alternately amused at his father's antics, and pleased that the curse was broken at last. Then a thought struck him.

“Uh, I hate to interrupt, but is this going to cause any problems with our getting back to Earth, Emma, and all the kids?” he asked.

Rumplestiltskin and Belle broke apart at that.

“Well... there _is_ magic in that world now,” Rumplestiltskin said thoughtfully as he puzzled out the issue. “Emma has magic, and the area where Storybrooke was will still have magic, even if the town isn't there any more. That makes things a good deal easier, as does even the vaguest idea of the contraptions that were invented in that world for breathing underwater.”

“What?” Neal asked, blinking in surprise at the apparent non-sequiter.

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “Belle, love, you and Ariel became quite good friends while others of us were off in Neverland, didn't you?” he asked knowingly.

Belle nodded as she processed exactly what Rumplestiltskin was getting at. Mermaids could travel between the worlds, and they could take anything with them – and potentially anybody as well, except that there was the issue of breathing underwater.

“How can you put a price on that deal though?” Belle asked cautiously. “If Ariel were to guide Emma through the realms in a bathesphere, or something like it, with Henry and the babies... And that's not even thinking of the risk they'd be walking into if Zelena's on a warpath here as well,” she added.

“Leave worrying about Zelena to the heroes, please dearie,” Rumplestiltskin scolded with a smile and a tap to Belle's nose. “I'm a facilitator of magic, not a hero, and neither are you.”

Belle nodded in acceptance.

Neal coughed pointedly and fought back a smile.

“Bae, I raised you to be better and braver than me,” Rumplestiltskin said firmly. “Your papa is still an old coward, even with all the power in the world that didn't really change, as much as I pretended otherwise. I'm sorry.”

Neal smirked. “That's alright,” he said, and gladly slung his arm over his father's shoulders in a loving (but manly) embrace. “You're brave enough when you've got a reason. That's what matters.”

“First things first though, we need to get in contact with that mermaid,” Rumplestiltskin declared firmly. “And warn the various ruling parties about Zelena,” he capitulated.

“And as soon as your grandson is here to be ring-bearer, and I've talked Jefferson into giving me away, _we_ are getting married,” Belle added firmly as she wove her fingers together with Rumplestiltskin's.

“Aye,” Rumplestiltskin agreed happily.

~The End~


End file.
